the art of planchette. He called himself a disciple of Lü
Tung-pin,[284] and some one said he was probably that worthy’s crane.
At his _séances_ the subjects were always literary--essays, poetry,
and so on. The well-known scholar, Li Chih, thought very highly of
him, and availed himself of his aid on more than one occasion; so that
by degrees the literati generally also patronized him. His responses
to questions of doubt or difficulty were remarkable for their
reasonableness; matters of mere good or bad fortune he did not care to
enter into. In 1631, just after the examination at Chi-nan, a number
of the candidates requested Mr. Wang to tell them how they would stand
on the list; and, after having examined their essays, he proceeded to
pass his opinion on their merits.[285] Among the rest there happened
to be one who was very intimate with another candidate, not present,
whose name was Li Pien; and who, being an enthusiastic student and a
deep thinker, was confidently expected to appear among the successful
few. Accordingly, the friend submitted Mr. Li’s essay for inspection;
and in a few minutes two characters appeared on the sand--namely,
“Number one.” After a short interval this sentence followed:--“The
decision given just now had reference to Mr. Li’s essay simply as an
essay. Mr. Li’s destiny is darkly obscured, and he will suffer
accordingly. It is strange, indeed, that a man’s literary powers and
his destiny should thus be out of harmony.[286] Surely the Examiner
will judge of him by his essay;--but stay: I will go and see how
matters stand.” Another pause ensued, and then these words were
written down:--“I have been over to the Examiner’s yamên, and have
found a pretty state of things going on; instead of reading the
candidates’ papers himself, he has handed them over to his clerks,
some half-dozen illiterate fellows who purchased their own degrees,
and who, in their previous existence, had no status whatever,--‘hungry
devils’[287] begging their bread in all directions; and who, after
eight hundred years passed in the murky gloom of the infernal regions,
have lost all discrimination, like men long buried in a cave and
suddenly transferred to the light of day. Among them may be one or two
who have risen above their former selves, but the odds are against an
essay falling into the hands of one of these.” The young men then
begged to know if there was any method by which such an evil might be
counteracted; to which the planchette replied that there was, but, as
it was universally understood, there was no occasion for asking the
question. Thereupon they went off and told Mr. Li, who was so much
distressed at the prediction that he submitted his essay to His
Excellency Sun Tzŭ-mei, one of the finest scholars of the day. This
gentleman examined it, and was so pleased with its literary merit that
he told Li he was quite sure to pass, and the latter thought no more
about the planchette prophecy. However, when the list came out, there
he was down in the fourth class; and this so much disconcerted His
Excellency Mr. Sun, that he went carefully through the essay again for
fear lest any blemishes might have escaped his attention. Then he
cried out, “Well, I have always thought this Examiner to be a scholar;
he can never have made such a mistake as this; it must be the fault of
some of his drunken assistants, who don’t know the mere rudiments of
composition.” This fulfilment of the prophecy raised Mr. Wang very
high in the estimation of the candidates, who forthwith went and
burned incense and invoked the spirit of the planchette, which at once
replied in the following terms:--“Let not Mr. Li be disheartened by
temporary failure. Let him rather strive to improve himself still
further, and next year he may be among the first on the list.” Li
carried out these injunctions; and after a time the story reached the
ears of the Examiner, who gratified Li by making a public
acknowledgment that there had been some miscarriage of justice at the
examination; and the following year he was passed high up on the
list.[288]
FOOTNOTES:
[283] Planchette was in full swing in China at the date of the
composition of these stories, more than 200 years ago, and remains so
at the present day. The character _chi_, used here and elsewhere for
Planchette, is defined in the _Shuo Wên_, a Chinese dictionary,
published A.D. 100, “to inquire by divination on doubtful topics,” no
mention being made of the particular manner in which responses are
obtained. For the purpose of writing from personal experience, I
recently attended a _séance_ at a temple in Amoy, and witnessed the
whole performance. After much delay, I was requested to write on a
slip of paper “any question I might have to put to the God;” and,
accordingly, I took a pencil and wrote down, “A humble suppliant
ventures to inquire if he will win the Manila lottery.” This question
was then placed upon the altar, at the feet of the God; and shortly
afterwards two respectable-looking Chinamen, not priests, approached a
small table covered with sand, and each seized one arm of a forked
piece of wood, at the fork of which was a stumpy end, at right angles
to the plane of the arms. Immediately the attendants began burning
quantities of joss-paper, while the two performers whirled the
instrument round and round at a rapid rate, its vertical point being
all the time pressed down upon the table of sand. All of a sudden the
whirling movement stopped, and the point of the instrument rapidly
traced a character in the sand, which was at once identified by
several of the bystanders, and forthwith copied down by a clerk in
attendance. The whirling movement was then continued until a similar
pause was made and another character appeared; and so on, until I had
four lines of correctly-rhymed Chinese verse, each line consisting of
seven characters. The following is an almost word-for-word
translation:--
“The pulse of human nature throbs from England to Cathay,
And gambling mortals ever love to swell their gains by play;
For gold in this vile world of ours is everywhere a prize--
A thousand taels shall meet the prayer that on this altar lies.”
As the question is not concealed from view, all that is necessary for
such a hollow deception is a quick-witted versifier who can put
together a poetical response _stans pede in uno_. But in such matters
the unlettered masses of China are easily outwitted, and are a
profitable source of income to the more astute of their
fellow-countrymen.
[284] An official who flourished in the eighth century of our era, and
who, for his devotion to the Taoist religion, was subsequently
canonized as one of the Eight Immortals. He is generally represented
as riding on a crane.
[285] That is, by means of the planchette-table.
[286] Our author was here evidently thinking of his own unlucky fate.
[287] See No. CXXXI., note 252.
[288] See No. LXXV., note 71.
CXLIII.
FRIENDSHIP WITH FOXES.
A certain man had an enormous stack of straw, as big as a hill, in
which his servants, taking what was daily required for use, had made
quite a hole. In this hole a fox fixed his abode, and would often shew
himself to the master of the house under the form of an old man. One
day the latter invited the master to walk into the cave, which he at
first declined, but accepted on being pressed by the fox; and when he
got inside, lo! he saw a long suite of handsome apartments. They then
sat down, and exquisitely perfumed tea and wine were brought; but the
place was so gloomy that there was no difference between night and
day. By-and-by, the entertainment being over, the guest took his
leave; and on looking back the beautiful rooms and their contents had
all disappeared. The old man himself was in the habit of going away in
the evening and returning with the first streaks of morning; and as no
one was able to follow him, the master of the house asked him one day
whither he went. To this he replied that a friend invited him to take
wine; and then the master begged to be allowed to accompany him, a
proposal to which the old man very reluctantly consented. However, he
seized the master by the arm, and away they went as though riding on
the wings of the wind; and, in about the time it takes to cook a pot
of millet, they reached a city, and walked into a restaurant, where
there were a number of people drinking together and making a great
noise. The old man led his companion to a gallery above, from which
they could look down on the feasters below; and he himself went down
and brought away from the tables all kinds of nice food and wine,
without appearing to be seen or noticed by any of the company. After
awhile a man dressed in red garments came forward and laid upon the
table some dishes of cumquats;[289] and the master at once requested
the old man to go down and get him some of these. “Ah,” replied the
latter, “that is an upright man: I cannot approach him.” Thereupon the
master said to himself, “By thus seeking the companionship of a fox, I
then am deflected from the true course. Henceforth I, too, will be an
upright man.” No sooner had he formed this resolution, than he
suddenly lost all control over his body, and fell from the gallery
down among the revellers below. These gentlemen were much astonished
by his unexpected descent; and he himself, looking up, saw there was
no gallery to the house, but only a large beam upon which he had been
sitting. He now detailed the whole of the circumstances, and those
present made up a purse for him to pay his travelling expenses; for he
was at Yü-t‘ai--one thousand _li_ from home.
FOOTNOTE:
[289] Literally, “golden oranges.” These are skilfully preserved by
the Cantonese, and form a delicious sweetmeat for dessert.
CXLIV.
THE GREAT RAT.
During the reign of the Emperor Wan Li,[290] the palace was troubled
by the presence of a huge rat, quite as big as a cat, which ate up all
the cats that were set to catch it. Just then it chanced that among
the tribute offerings sent by some foreign State was a lion-cat, as
white as snow. This cat was accordingly put into the room where the
rat usually appeared; and, the door being closely shut, a secret watch
was kept. By-and-by the rat came out of its hole and rushed at the
cat, which turned and fled, finally jumping up on the table. The rat
followed, upon which the cat jumped down; and thus they went on up and
down for some time. Those who were watching said the cat was afraid
and of no use; however, in a little while the rat began to jump less
briskly, and soon after squatted down out of breath. Then the cat
rushed at it, and, seizing the rat by the back of the neck, shook and
shook while its victim squeaked and squeaked, until life was extinct.
Thus they knew the cat was not afraid, but merely waited for its
adversary to be fatigued, fleeing when pursued and itself pursuing the
fleeing rat. Truly, many a bad swordsman may be compared with that
rat!
FOOTNOTE:
[290] A.D. 1573-1620, the epoch of the most celebrated “blue china.”
CXLV.
WOLVES.
I.--A certain village butcher, who had bought some meat at market and
was returning home in the evening, suddenly came across a wolf, which
followed him closely, its mouth watering at the sight of what he was
carrying. The butcher drew his knife and drove the animal off; and
then reflecting that his meat was the attraction, he determined to
hang it up in a tree and fetch it the next morning. This he
accordingly did, and the wolf followed him no further; but when he
went at daylight to recover his property, he saw something hanging up
in the tree resembling a human corpse. It turned out to be the wolf,
which, in its efforts to get at the meat, had been caught on the
meat-hook like a fish; and as the skin of a wolf was just then worth
ten ounces of silver, the butcher found himself possessed of quite a
little capital. Here we have a laughable instance of the result of
“climbing trees to catch fish.”[291]
II.--A butcher, while travelling along at night, was sore pressed by a
wolf, and took refuge in an old mat shed which had been put up for
the watchman of the crops. There he lay, while the wolf sniffed at him
from outside, and at length thrust in one of its paws from underneath.
This the butcher seized hold of at once, and held it firmly, so that
the wolf couldn’t stir; and then, having no other weapon at hand, he
took a small knife he had with him and slit the skin underneath the
wolf’s paw. He now proceeded to blow into it, as butchers blow into
pork;[292] and after vigorously blowing for some time, he found that
the wolf had ceased to struggle; upon which he went outside and saw
the animal lying on the ground, swelled up to the size of a cow, and
unable to bend its legs or close its open mouth. Thereupon he threw it
across his shoulders and carried it off home. However, such a feat as
this could only be accomplished by a butcher.
FOOTNOTES:
[291] A satirical remark of Mencius (Book I.), used by the sage when
combating the visionary projects of a monarch of antiquity.
[292] This disgusting process is too frequently performed by native
butchers at the present day, in order to give their meat a more
tempting appearance. Water is also blown in through a tube, to make it
heavier; and inexperienced housekeepers are often astonished to find
how light ducks and geese become after being cooked, not knowing that
the fraudulent poulterer had previously stuffed their throats as full
as possible of sand.
CXLVI.
SINGULAR VERDICT.
A servant in the employ of a Mr. Sun was sleeping alone one night,
when all on a sudden he was arrested and carried before the tribunal
of the Ruler of Purgatory. “This is not the right man,” cried his
Majesty, and immediately sent him back. However, after this the
servant was afraid to sleep on that bed again, and took up his
quarters elsewhere. But another servant, named Kuo Ngan, seeing the
vacant place, went and occupied it. A third servant, named Li Lu, who
had an old standing grudge against the first, stole up to the bed that
same night with a knife in his hand, and killed Kuo Ngan[293] in
mistake for his enemy. Kuo’s father at once brought the case before
the magistrate of the place, pleading that the murdered man was his
only son on whom he depended for his living; and the magistrate
decided that Kuo was to take Li Lu in the place of his dead son, much
to the discomfiture of the old man. Truly the descent of the first
servant into Purgatory was not so marvellous as the magistrate’s
decision!
FOOTNOTE:
[293] This was the man whose destiny it was really to die just then,
and appear before the Ruler of Purgatory.
CXLVII.
THE GRATEFUL DOG.
A certain trader who had been doing business at Wu-hu and was
returning home with the large profits he had made, saw on the river
bank a butcher tying up a dog.[294] He bought the animal for much more
than its value, and carried it along with him in his boat. Now the
boatman had formerly been a bandit; and, tempted by his passenger’s
wealth, ran the boat among the rushes, and, drawing a knife, prepared
to slay him. The trader begged the man to leave him a whole skin;[295]
so the boatman wrapped him up in a carpet and threw him into the
river. The dog, on seeing what was done, whined piteously, and jumping
into the river, seized the bundle with his teeth and did its best to
keep the trader above water until at length a shallow spot was
reached. The animal then succeeded by continuous barking in attracting
the attention of some people on the bank, and they hauled the bundle
out of the river, and released the trader who was still alive. The
latter asked to be taken back to Wu-hu where he might look out for the
robber boatman; but just as he was about to start, lo! the dog was
missing. The trader was much distressed at this; and after spending
some days at Wu-hu without being able to find, among the forest of
masts collected there, the particular boat he wanted, he was on the
point of returning home with a friend, when suddenly the dog
re-appeared and seemed by its barking to invite its master to follow
in a certain direction. This the trader did, until at length the dog
jumped on a boat and seized one of the boatmen by the leg. No beating
could make the animal let go; and on looking closely at the man, the
trader saw he was the identical boatman who had robbed and tried to
murder him. He had changed his clothes and also his boat, so that at
first he was not recognisable; he was now, however, arrested, and the
whole of the money was found in his boat. To think that a dog could
show gratitude like that! Truly there are not a few persons who would
be put to shame by that faithful animal.[296]
FOOTNOTES:
[294] The city of Canton boasts several “cat and dog” restaurants; but
the consumption of this kind of food is much less universal than is
generally supposed.
[295] Not in our sense of the term. It was not death, but
decapitation, or even mutilation, from which the trader begged to be
spared. See No. LXXII., note 59.
[296] The Chinese dog is usually an ill-fed, barking cur, without one
redeeming trait in its character. Valued as a guardian of house and
property, this animal does not hold the same social position as with
us; its very name is a by-word of reproach; and the people of Tonquin
explain their filthy custom of blackening the teeth on the ground that
a dog’s teeth are white.
CXLVIII.
THE GREAT TEST.
Before Mr. Yang Ta-hung[297] was known to fame, he had already
acquired some reputation as a scholar in his own part of the country,
and felt convinced himself that his was to be no mean destiny. When
the list of successful candidates at the examination was brought to
where he lived, he was in the middle of dinner, and rushed out with
his mouth full to ask if his name was there or not; and on hearing
that it was not, he experienced such a revulsion of feeling that what
he then swallowed stuck fast like a lump in his chest and made him
very ill. His friends tried to appease him by advising him to try at
the further examination of the rejected, and when he urged that he had
no money, they subscribed ten ounces of silver and started him on his
way.
That night he dreamt that a man appeared to him and said, “Ahead of
you there is one who can cure your complaint: beseech him to aid you.”
The man then added--
“A tune on the flute ’neath the riverside willow:
Oh, show no regret when ’tis cast to the billow!”
Next day, Mr. Yang actually met a Taoist priest sitting beneath a
willow tree; and, making him a bow, asked him to prescribe for his
malady. “You have come to the wrong person,” replied the priest,
smiling; “I cannot cure diseases; but had you asked me for a tune on
the flute, I could have possibly helped you.” Then Mr. Yang knew that
his dream was being fulfilled; and going down on his knees offered the
priest all the money he had. The priest took it, but immediately threw
it into the river, at which Mr. Yang, thinking how hardly he had come
by this money, was moved to express his regret. “Aha!” cried the
priest at this; “so you are not indifferent, eh? You’ll find your
money all safe on the bank.” There indeed Mr. Yang found it, at which
he was so much astonished that he addressed the priest as though he
had been an angel. “I am no angel,” said the priest, “but here comes
one;” whereupon Mr. Yang looked behind him, and the priest seized the
opportunity to give him a slap on the back, crying out at the same
time, “You worldly-minded fellow!” This blow brought up the lump of
food that had stuck in his chest, and he felt better at once; but when
he looked round the priest had disappeared.[298]
FOOTNOTES:
[297] A celebrated scholar and statesman, who flourished towards the
close of the Ming dynasty, and distinguished himself by his
impeachment of the powerful eunuch, Wei Chung-hsien,--a dangerous step
to take in those eunuch-ridden times.
[298] Mr. Yang was a man of tried virtue, and had he been able to
tolerate _oculo irretorto_, the loss of his money, the priest would
have given him, not merely a cure for the bodily ailment under which
he was suffering, but a knowledge of those means by which he might
have obtained the salvation of his soul, and have enrolled himself
among the ranks of the Taoist Immortals. “To those, however,” remarks
the commentator, “who lament that Mr. Yang was too worldly-minded to
secure this great prize, I reply, ‘Better one more good man on earth,
than an extra angel in heaven.’”
CXLIX.
THE ALCHEMIST.[299]
At Ch‘ang-ngan there lived a scholar named Chia Tzŭ-lung, who one day
noticed a very refined-looking stranger; and, on making inquiries
about him, learnt that he was a Mr. Chên, who had taken lodgings hard
by. Accordingly, next day Chia called and sent in his card, but did
not see Chên, who happened to be out at the time. The same thing
occurred thrice; and at length Chia engaged some one to watch and let
him know when Mr. Chên was at home. However, even then the latter
would not come forth to receive his guest, and Chia had to go in and
rout him out. The two now entered into conversation, and soon became
mutually charmed with each other; and by-and-by Chia sent off a
servant to bring wine from a neighbouring wine-shop. Mr. Chên proved
himself a pleasant boon companion, and when the wine was nearly
finished, he went to a box, and took from it some wine-cups and a
large and beautiful jade tankard, into the latter of which he poured
a single cup of wine, and lo! it was filled to the brim. They then
proceeded to help themselves from the tankard; but however much they
took out, the contents never seemed to diminish. Chia was astonished
at this, and begged Mr. Chên to tell him how it was done. “Ah,”
replied Mr. Chên, “I tried to avoid making your acquaintance solely
because of your one bad quality--avarice. The art I practise is a
secret known to the Immortals only: how can I divulge it to you?” “You
do me wrong,” rejoined Chia, “in thus attributing avarice to me. The
avaricious, indeed, are always poor.” Mr. Chên laughed, and they
separated for that day; but from that time they were constantly
together, and all ceremony was laid aside between them. Whenever Chia
wanted money, Mr. Chên would bring out a black stone, and, muttering a
charm, would rub it on a tile or a brick, which was forthwith changed
into a lump of silver. This silver he would give to Chia, and it was
always just as much as he actually required, neither more nor less;
and if ever the latter asked for more, Mr. Chên would rally him on the
subject of avarice. Finally, Chia determined to try and get possession
of this stone; and one day, when Mr. Chên was sleeping off the fumes
of a drinking-bout, he tried to extract it from his clothes. However,
Chên detected him at once, and declared that they could be friends no
more, and next day he left the place altogether. About a year
afterwards Chia was one day wandering by the river-bank, when he saw a
handsome-looking stone, marvellously like that in the possession of
Mr. Chên; and he picked it up at once and carried it home with him. A
few days passed away, and suddenly Mr. Chên presented himself at
Chia’s house, and explained that the stone in question possessed the
property of changing anything into gold, and had been bestowed upon
him long before by a certain Taoist priest, whom he had followed as a
disciple. “Alas!” added he, “I got tipsy and lost it; but divination
told me where it was, and if you will now restore it to me, I shall
take care to repay your kindness.” “You have divined rightly,” replied
Chia; “the stone is with me; but recollect, if you please, that the
indigent Kuan Chung[300] shared the wealth of his friend Pao Shu.” At
this hint Mr. Chên said he would give Chia one hundred ounces of
silver; to which the latter replied that one hundred ounces was a fair
offer, but that he would far sooner have Mr. Chên teach him the
formula to utter when rubbing the stone on anything, so as just to try
the thing once himself. Mr. Chên was afraid to do this; whereupon Chia
cried out, “You are an Immortal yourself; you must know well enough
that I would never deceive a friend.” So Mr. Chên was prevailed upon
to teach him the formula, and then Chia would have tried the art upon
the immense stone washing-block[301] which was lying near at hand, had
not Mr. Chên seized his arm and begged him not to do any thing so
outrageous. Chia then picked up half a brick and laid it on the
washing-block, saying to Mr. Chên, “This little piece is not too much,
surely?” Accordingly, Mr. Chên relaxed his hold and let Chia proceed;
which he did by promptly ignoring the half brick and quickly rubbing
the stone on the washing-block. Mr. Chên turned pale when he saw him
do this, and made a dash forward to get hold of the stone; but it was
too late, the washing-block was already a solid mass of silver, and
Chia quietly handed him back the stone. “Alas! alas!” cried Mr. Chên,
in despair, “what is to be done now? For having thus irregularly
conferred wealth upon a mortal,[302] Heaven will surely punish me. Oh,
if you would save me, give away one hundred coffins[303] and one
hundred suits of wadded clothes.” “My friend,” replied Chia, “my
object in getting money was not to hoard it up like a miser.” Mr. Chên
was delighted at this; and during the next three years Chia engaged in
trade, taking care to be all the time fulfilling his promise to Mr.
Chên. At the expiration of that time Mr. Chên himself reappeared, and,
grasping Chia’s hand, said to him, “Trustworthy and noble friend, when
we last parted the Spirit of Happiness impeached me before God,[304]
and my name was erased from the list of angels. But now that you have
carried out my request, that sentence has accordingly been rescinded.
Go on as you have begun, without ceasing.” Chia asked Mr. Chên what
office he filled in heaven; to which the latter replied that he was
only a fox, who, by a sinless life, had finally attained to that clear
perception of the Truth which leads to immortality. Wine was then
brought, and the two friends enjoyed themselves together as of old;
and even when Chia had passed the age of ninety years, that fox still
used to visit him from time to time.
FOOTNOTES:
[299] Alchemy was widely cultivated in China during the Han dynasty by
priests of the Taoist religion, but all traces of it have now long
since disappeared.
[300] See No. XXII., note 143.
[301] These are used, together with a heavy wooden _bâton_, by the
Chinese washerman, the effect being most disastrous to a European
wardrobe.
[302] For thus interfering with the appointments of Destiny.
[303] To provide coffins for poor people has ever been regarded as an
act of transcendent merit. The tornado at Canton, in April, 1878, in
which several thousand lives were lost, afforded an admirable
opportunity for the exercise of this form of charity--an opportunity
which was very largely availed of by the benevolent.
[304] For usurping its prerogative by allowing Chia to obtain
unauthorized wealth.
CL.
RAISING THE DEAD.