STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
TRANSLATED AND ANNOTATED
BY
HERBERT A. GILES,
_Of H.M.’s Consular Service_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
THOS. DE LA RUE & CO.
110, BUNHILL ROW.
1880.
PRINTED BY
THOMAS DE LA RUE AND CO., BUNHILL ROW,
LONDON.
TO MY WIFE AND OUR CHILDREN:
_BERTRAM_,
_LIONEL_,
_VALENTINE_,
_LANCELOT_.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION Vol. I., pp. xiii-xxxii.
STORIES.
VOL. I. VOL. II.
PAGE PAGE
Adulteration Punished -- 332
Alchemist, The -- 313
Boat-girl Bride, The -- 149
Boatmen of Lao-lung, The -- 348
Boon Companion, The 165 --
Bribery and Corruption -- 170
Buddhist Priest of Ch‘ang-ch‘ing, The 22 --
Buddhist Priests, Arrival of -- 231
Butterfly’s Revenge, The -- 289
Carrying a Corpse -- 181
Cattle Plague, The -- 253
Censor in Purgatory, The -- 238
Chang Pu-liang -- 177
Chang’s Transformation 237 --
Chou K‘o-ch‘ang and his Ghost -- 106
Clay Image, The -- 276
Cloth Merchant, The -- 127
Collecting Subscriptions -- 220
Considerate Husband, The 158 --
Country of the Cave Men, The 397 --
Courage Tested -- 116
Cruelty Avenged -- 267
Dead Priest, The -- 247
Death by Laughing 352 --
Disembodied Friend, The -- 119
Dishonesty Punished -- 279
Doctor, The -- 290
Donkey’s Revenge, The -- 64
Dr. Tsêng’s Dream 387 --
Dreaming Honours -- 327
Dutch Carpet, The -- 179
Dwarf, A 224 --
Earthquake, An -- 263
Elephants and the Lion, The -- 343
Engaged to a Nun 262 --
Examination for the Post of Guardian Angel 1 --
Faithful Dog, The -- 261
Faithful Gander, The -- 342
Faithless Widow, The -- 39
Feasting the Ruler of Purgatory -- 284
Fêng-shui -- 322
Fight with the Foxes, The 251 --
Fighting Cricket, The -- 17
Fighting Quails, The 66 --
Fisherman and his Friend, The -- 197
Flood, A 350 --
Flower-nymphs, The 285 --
Flying Cow, The -- 249
Foot-ball on the Tung-t‘ing Lake 408 --
Foreign Priests 343 --
Fortune-hunter Punished, The -- 272
Forty Strings of Cash, The -- 211
Friendship with Foxes -- 300
Gambler’s Talisman, The 419 --
Grateful Dog, The -- 308
Great Rat, The -- 303
Great Test, The -- 310
Hidden Treasure, The -- 345
His Father’s Ghost -- 142
Hsiang-ju’s Misfortunes 225 --
Husband Punished, The 422 --
Incorrupt Official, The -- 358
Infernal Regions, In the -- 95
Ingratitude Punished -- 138
Injustice of Heaven, The -- 111
Invisible Priest, The -- 235
Jen Hsiu, The Gambler 196 --
Joining the Immortals 53 --
Jonah, A Chinese -- 176
Judge Lu 92 --
Justice for Rebels -- 184
Killing a Serpent -- 190
King, The 257 --
Life Prolonged -- 273
Lingering Death, The -- 325
Little Chu 143 --
Lo-ch‘a Country and the Sea Market, The -- 1
Lost Brother, The 203 --
Mad Priest, The -- 282
Magic Mirror, The -- 114
Magic Path, The -- 36
Magic Sword, The 124 --
Magical Arts 47 --
Magnanimous Girl, The 160 --
Making Animals -- 265
Man who was changed into a Crow, The 278 --
Man who was thrown down a Well, The 365 --
Marriage Lottery, The 428 --
Marriage of the Fox’s Daughter, The 26 --
Marriage of the Virgin Goddess, The -- 257
Master-thief, The 347 --
Metempsychosis -- 207
“Mirror and Listen” Trick, The -- 251
Miss Chiao-no 33 --
Miss Lien-hsiang, The Fox-girl 168 --
Miss Quarta Hu 152 --
Miss Ying-ning; or, the Laughing Girl 106 --
Mr. Tung; or, Virtue Rewarded -- 244
Mr. Willow and the Locusts -- 242
Mysterious Head, The -- 135
Painted Skin, The 76 --
Painted Wall, The 9 --
Performing Mice, The 218 --
Perseverance Rewarded 186 --
Picture Horse, The -- 286
Pious Surgeon, The -- 351
Planchette -- 295
Planting a Pear-tree 14 --
Playing at Hanging 354 --
Priest’s Warning, The -- 205
Princess Lily, The -- 56
Princess of the Tung-t‘ing Lake -- 43
Quarrelsome Brothers, The 313 --
Raising the Dead -- 318
Rat Wife, The 355 --
Resuscitated Corpse, The -- 193
Rip van Winkle, A Chinese -- 85
Roc, The -- 340
Salt Smuggler, The -- 215
Saving Life -- 213
Sea-serpent, The -- 113
Self-punished Murderer, The 345 --
She-wolf and the Herd-boys, The -- 330
Shui-mang Plant, The 136 --
Singing Frogs, The 217 --
Singular case of Ophthalmia -- 102
Singular Verdict -- 307
Sisters, The 336 --
Smelling Essays -- 139
Snow in Summer -- 294
Solomon, A Chinese -- 335
Solomon, Another -- 355
Spirit of the Hills, The -- 137
Spirits of the Po-yang Lake, The -- 109
Spiritualistic Séances -- 131
Stolen Eyes, The -- 233
Strange Companion, A -- 130
Stream of Cash, The -- 110
Supernatural Wife, A -- 166
Taking Revenge -- 25
Talking Pupils, The 5 --
Ta-nan in Search of his Father 296 --
Taoist Devotee, A -- 183
Taoist Miracles -- 226
Taoist Priest, A 246 --
Taoist Priest of Lao-shan, The 17 --
Theft of the Peach -- 186
Three Genii, The 214 --
Three States of Existence, The -- 90
Thunder God, The 413 --
Tiger Guest, The 330 --
Tiger of Chao-ch‘êng, The 219 --
Tipsy Turtle, The -- 28
Trader’s Son, The 85 --
Two Brides, The -- 158
Unjust Sentence, The -- 80
Virtuous Daughter-in-law, The 374 --
Wei-ch‘i Devil, The -- 268
Wine Insect, The -- 259
Wolf Dream, The -- 73
Wolves -- 305
Wonderful Stone, The 306 --
Young Gentleman who couldn’t spell, The 326 --
Young Lady of the Tung-t‘ing Lake, The 271 --
APPENDIX A -- 361
„ B -- 389
INTRODUCTION.
I.--PERSONAL.--The public has, perhaps, a right to be made acquainted
with the title under which I, an unknown writer, come forward as the
translator of a difficult Chinese work. In the spring of 1867 I began
the study of Chinese at H.B.M.’s Legation, Peking, under an implied
promise, in a despatch from the then Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs, that successful efforts would be rewarded by proportionately
rapid advancement in the service of which I was a member. Then
followed a long novitiate of utterly uninteresting and, indeed, most
repellent labour,--inseparable, however, from the acquisition of this
language, which throughout its early stages demands more from sheer
memory than from the exercise of any other intellectual faculty. At
length, in the spring of 1877, while acting as Vice-Consul at Canton,
I commenced the translation of the work here offered to the English
reader. For such a task I had flattered myself into the belief that I
possessed two of the requisite qualifications: an accurate knowledge
of the grammatical structure of the language, and an extensive insight
into the manners, customs, superstitions, and general social life of
the Chinese. I had been variously stationed at Peking, Tientsin,
Takow, and Taiwan Fu (in Formosa), Ningpo, Hankow, Swatow, and Canton,
from the latter of which I was transferred--when my task was still
only half finished--to Amoy. I had travelled beyond the Great Wall
into Mongolia; and I had made the journey overland from Swatow to
Canton, a distance of five hundred miles; besides which, in addition
to my study of the language, my daily object in life had always been
to familiarise myself as much as possible with Chinese sympathies and
habits of thought. With these advantages, and by the interesting
nature of the subject-matter, I hoped to be able on the one hand to
arouse a somewhat deeper interest than is usually taken in the affairs
of China; and, on the other, to correct at any rate some of the
erroneous views, too frequently palmed off by inefficient and
disingenuous workers, and too readily accepted as fact. And I would
here draw attention to one most important point; namely, that although
a great number of books have been published about China and the
Chinese, there are extremely few in which the information is conveyed
at first hand; in other words, in which the Chinese are allowed to
speak for themselves.[1] Hence, perhaps, it may be that in an
accurately-compiled work such as Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_,
allusions to the religious rites and ceremonies of nearly one-third of
the human race are condensed within the limits of barely a dozen short
passages. Hence, too, it undoubtedly is that many Chinese customs are
ridiculed and condemned by turns, simply because the medium through
which they have been conveyed has produced a distorted image. Much of
what the Chinese do actually believe and practise in their religious
and social life will be found in this volume, in the _ipsissima verba_
of a highly-educated scholar writing about his fellow-countrymen and
his native land; while for the notes with which I have essayed to make
the picture more suggestive and more acceptable to the European eye,
I claim only so much authority as is due to the opinion of one
qualified observer who can have no possible motive in deviating ever
so slightly from what his own personal experience has taught him to
regard as the truth.
II.--BIOGRAPHICAL.--The barest skeleton of a biography is all that can
be formed from the very scanty materials which remain to mark the
career of a writer whose work has been for the best part of two
centuries as familiar throughout the length and breadth of China as
are the tales of the “Arabian Nights” in all English-speaking
communities. The author of “Strange Stories” was a native of Tzu-chou,
in the province of Shan-tung. His family name was P‘u; his particular
name was Sung-ling; and the designation or literary epithet by which,
in accordance with Chinese usage, he was commonly known among his
friends, was Liu-hsien, or “Last of the Immortals.” A further fancy
name, given to him probably by some enthusiastic admirer, was
Liu Ch‘üan, or “Willow Spring;” but he is now familiarly spoken of
simply as P‘u Sung-ling. We are unacquainted with the years of his
birth or death; however, by the aid of a meagre entry in the _History
of Tzü-chou_ it is possible to make a pretty good guess at the date
of the former event. For we are there told that P‘u Sung-ling
successfully competed for the lowest or bachelor’s degree before he
had reached the age of twenty; and that in 1651 he was in the position
of a graduate of ten years’ standing, having failed in the interim to
take the second, or master’s, degree. To this failure, due, as we are
informed in the history above quoted, to his neglect of the beaten
track of academic study, we owe the existence of his great work; not,
indeed, his only production, though the one _par excellence_ by which,
as Confucius said of his own “Spring and Autumn,” men will know him.
All else that we have on record of P‘u Sung-ling, besides the fact
that he lived in close companionship with several eminent scholars of
the day, is gathered from his own words, written when, in 1679, he
laid down his pen upon the completion of a task which was to raise him
within a short period to a foremost rank in the Chinese world of
letters. Of that record I here append a close translation, accompanied
by such notes as are absolutely necessary to make it intelligible to
non-students of Chinese.
AUTHOR’S OWN RECORD.
“‘Clad in wistaria, girdled with ivy;’[2] thus sang San-lü[3] in
his _Dissipation of Grief_.[4] Of ox-headed devils and serpent
Gods,[5] he of the long-nails[6] never wearied to tell. Each
interprets in his own way the music of heaven;[7] and whether it
be discord or not, depends upon antecedent causes.[8] As for me, I
cannot, with my poor autumn fire-fly’s light, match myself against
the hobgoblins of the age.[9] I am but the dust in the sunbeam, a
fit laughing-stock for devils.[10] For my talents are not those of
Yü Pao,[11] elegant explorer of the records of the Gods; I am
rather animated by the Spirit of Su Tung-p‘o,[12] who loved to
hear men speak of the supernatural. I get people to commit what
they tell me to writing, and subsequently I dress it up in the
form of a story; and thus in the lapse of time my friends from all
quarters have supplied me with quantities of material, which, from
my habit of collecting, has grown into a vast pile.[13]
“Human beings, I would point out, are not beyond the pale of fixed
laws, and yet there are more remarkable phenomena in their midst
than in the country of those who crop their hair;[14] antiquity is
unrolled before us, and many tales are to be found therein
stranger than that of the nation of Flying Heads.[15]
‘Irrepressible bursts, and luxurious ease,’[16]--such was always
his enthusiastic strain. ‘For ever indulging in liberal
thought,’[17]--thus he spoke openly without restraint. Were men
like these to open my book, I should be a laughing-stock to them
indeed. At the cross-roads[18] men will not listen to me, and yet
I have some knowledge of the three states of existence[19] spoken
of beneath the cliff;[20] neither should the words I utter be set
aside because of him that utters them.[21] When the bow[22] was
hung at my father’s door, he dreamed that a sickly-looking
Buddhist priest, but half-covered by his stole, entered the
chamber. On one of his breasts was a round piece of plaster like
a _cash_;[23] and my father, waking from sleep, found that I, just
born, had a similar black patch on my body. As a child, I was thin
and constantly ailing, and unable to hold my own in the battle of
life. Our home was chill and desolate as a monastery; and working
there for my livelihood with my pen,[24] I was as poor as a priest
with his alms-bowl.[25] Often and often I put my hand to my
head[26] and exclaimed, ‘Surely he who sat with his face to the
wall[27] was myself in a previous state of existence;’ and thus I
referred my non-success in this life to the influence of a destiny
surviving from the last. I have been tossed hither and thither in
the direction of the ruling wind, like a flower falling in filthy
places; but the six paths[28] of transmigration are inscrutable
indeed, and I have no right to complain. As it is, midnight finds
me with an expiring lamp, while the wind whistles mournfully
without; and over my cheerless table I piece together my
tales,[29] vainly hoping to produce a sequel to the _Infernal
Regions_.[30] With a bumper I stimulate my pen, yet I only succeed
thereby in ‘venting my excited feelings,’[31] and as I thus commit
my thoughts to writing, truly I am an object worthy of
commiseration. Alas! I am but the bird that, dreading the winter
frost, finds no shelter in the tree: the autumn insect that chirps
to the moon, and hugs the door for warmth. For where are they who
know me?[32] They are ‘in the bosky grove, and at the frontier
pass’[33]--wrapped in an impenetrable gloom!”
From the above curious document the reader will gain some insight into
the abstruse, but at the same time marvellously beautiful, style of
this gifted writer. The whole essay--for such it is, and among the
most perfect of its kind--is intended chiefly as a satire upon the
scholarship of the age; scholarship which had turned the author back
to the disappointment of a private life, himself conscious all the
time of the inward fire that had been lent him by heaven. It is the
key-note to his own subsequent career, spent in the retirement of
home, in the society of books and friends; as also to the numerous
uncomplimentary allusions which occur in all his stories relating to
official life. Whether or not the world at large has been a gainer by
this instance of the fallibility of competitive examinations has been
already decided in the affirmative by the millions of P‘u Sung-ling’s
own countrymen, who for the past two hundred years have more than made
up to him by a posthumous and enduring reverence for the loss of those
earthly and ephemeral honours which he seems to have coveted so much.
III.--BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.--_Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio_, known
to the Chinese as the _Liao-Chai-Chih-I_, or more familiarly, the
_Liao-Chai_, has hardly been mentioned by a single foreigner without
some inaccuracy on the part of the writer concerned. For instance, the
late Mr. Mayers states in his _Chinese Reader’s Manual_, p. 176, that
this work was composed “circa A.D. 1710,” the fact being that the
collection was actually completed in 1679, as we know by the date
attached to the “Author’s Own Record” given above. It is consequently
two centuries, almost to the day, since the first appearance of a book
destined to a popularity which the lapse of time seems wholly unable
to diminish; and the present may fairly be considered a fitting epoch
for its first presentation to the English reader in an English dress.
I should mention, however, that the _Liao-Chai_ was originally, and
for many years, circulated in manuscript only. P‘u Sung-ling, as we
are told in a colophon by his grandson to the first edition, was too
poor to meet the heavy expense of block-cutting; and it was not until
as late as 1740, when the author must have been already for some time
a denizen of the dark land he so much loved to describe, that his
aforesaid grandson printed and published the collection now so
universally famous. Since then many editions have been laid before the
Chinese public, the best of which is that by Tan Ming-lun, a Salt
Commissioner, who flourished during the reign of Tao Kuang, and who in
1842 produced, at his own expense, an excellent edition in sixteen
small octavo volumes of about 160 pages each. And as various editions
will occasionally be found to contain various readings, I would here
warn students of Chinese who wish to compare my rendering with the
text, that it is from the edition of Tan Ming-lun, collated with that
of Yü Chi, published in 1766, that this translation has been made.
Many have been the commentaries and disquisitions upon the meaning of
obscure passages and the general scope of this work; to say nothing of
the prefaces with which the several editions have been ushered into
the world. Of the latter, I have selected one specimen, from which the
reader will be able to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the
true nature of these always singular and usually difficult
compositions. Here it is:--
T‘ANG MÊNG LAI’S PREFACE.
“The common saying, ‘He regards a camel as a horse with a swelled
back,’ trivial of itself, may be used in illustration of greater
matters. Men are wont to attribute an existence only to such
things as they daily see with their own eyes, and they marvel at
whatsoever, appearing before them at one instant, vanishes at the
next. And yet it is not at the sprouting and falling of foliage,
or at the metamorphosis of insects that they marvel, but only at
the manifestations of the supernatural world; though of a truth,
the whistling of the wind and the movement of streams, with
nothing to set the one in motion or give sound to the other, might
well be ranked among extraordinary phenomena. We are accustomed to
these, and therefore do not note them. We marvel at devils and
foxes: we do not marvel at man. But who is it that causes a man to
move and to speak?--to which question comes the ready answer of
each individual so questioned, ‘_I_ do.’ This ‘I do,’ however, is
merely a personal consciousness of the facts under discussion.
For a man can see with his eyes, but he cannot see what it is that
makes him see; he can hear with his ears, but he cannot hear what
it is that makes him hear; how, then, is it possible for him to
understand the rationale of things he can neither see nor hear.
Whatever has come within the bounds of their own ocular or
auricular experience men regard as proved to be actually existing;
and only such things.[34] But this term ‘experience’ may be
understood in various senses. For instance, people speak of
something which has certain attributes as _form_, and of something
else which has certain other attributes as _substance_; ignorant
as they are that form and substance are to be found existing
without those particular attributes. Things which are thus
constituted are inappreciable, indeed, by our ears and eyes; but
we cannot argue that therefore they do not exist. Some persons can
see a mosquito’s eye, while to others even a mountain is
invisible; some can hear the sound of ants battling together,
while others again fail to catch the roar of a thunder-peal.
Powers of seeing and hearing vary; there should be no reckless
imputations of blindness. According to the schoolmen, man at his
death is dispersed like wind or fire, the origin and end of his
vitality being alike unknown; and as those who have seen strange
phenomena are few, the number of those who marvel at them is
proportionately great, and the ‘horse with a swelled back’
parallel is very widely applicable. And ever quoting the fact that
Confucius would have nothing to say on these topics, these
schoolmen half discredit such works as the _Ch‘i-chieh-chih-kuai_
and the _Yü-ch‘u-chi-i_,[35] ignorant that the Sage’s
unwillingness to speak had reference only to persons of an
inferior mental calibre; for his own _Spring and Autumn_ can
hardly be said to be devoid of all allusions of the kind. Now P‘u
Liu-hsien devoted himself in his youth to the marvellous, and as
he grew older was specially remarkable for his comprehension
thereof; and being moreover a most elegant writer, he occupied his
leisure in recording whatever came to his knowledge of a
particularly marvellous nature. A volume of these compositions of
his formerly fell into my hands, and was constantly borrowed by
friends; now, I have another volume, and of what I read only about
three-tenths was known to me before. What there is, should be
sufficient to open the eyes of those schoolmen, though I much fear
it will be like talking of ice to a butterfly. Personally, I
disbelieve in the irregularity of natural phenomena, and regard as
evil spirits only those who injure their neighbours. For eclipses,
falling stars, the flight of herons, the nest of a mina, talking
stones, and the combats of dragons, can hardly be classed as
irregular; while the phenomena of nature occurring out of season,
wars, rebellions, and so forth, may certainly be relegated to the
category of evil. In my opinion the morality of P‘u Liu-hsien’s
work is of a very high standard, its object being distinctly to
glorify virtue and to censure vice, and as a book calculated to
elevate mankind may be safely placed side by side with the
philosophical treatises of Yang Hsiung which Huan Tan declared to
be so worthy of a wide circulation.”
With regard to the meaning of the Chinese words _Liao-Chai-Chih-I_,
this title has received indifferent treatment at the hands of
different writers. Dr. Williams chose to render it by “Pastimes of the
Study,” and Mr. Mayers by “The Record of Marvels, or Tales of the
Genii;” neither of which is sufficiently near to be regarded in the
light of a translation. Taken literally and in order, these words
stand for “Liao--library--record--strange,” “Liao” being simply a
fanciful name given by our author to his private library or studio. An
apocryphal anecdote traces the origin of this selection to a remark
once made by himself with reference to his failure for the second
degree. “Alas!” he is reported to have said, “I shall now have no
resource (_Liao_) for my old age;” and accordingly he so named his
study, meaning that in his pen he would seek that resource which fate
had denied to him as an official. For this untranslatable “Liao” I
have ventured to substitute “Chinese,” as indicating more clearly the
nature of what is to follow. No such title as “Tales of the Genii”
fully expresses the scope of this work, which embraces alike weird
stories of Taoist devilry and magic, marvellous accounts of impossible
countries beyond the sea, simple scenes of Chinese every-day life, and
notices of extraordinary natural phenomena. Indeed, the author once
had it in contemplation to publish only the more imaginative of the
tales in the present collection under the title of “Devil and Fox
Stories;” but from this scheme he was ultimately dissuaded by his
friends, the result being the heterogeneous mass which is more aptly
described by the title I have given to this volume. In a similar
manner, I too had originally determined to publish a full and complete
translation of the whole of these sixteen volumes; but on a closer
acquaintance many of the stories turned out to be quite unsuitable for
the age in which we live, forcibly recalling the coarseness of our own
writers of fiction in the last century. Others again were utterly
pointless, or mere repetitions in a slightly altered form. Of the
whole, I therefore selected one hundred and sixty-four of the best and
most characteristic stories, of which eight had previously been
published by Mr. Allen in the _China Review_, one by Mr. Mayers in
_Notes and Queries on China and Japan_, two by myself in the columns
of the _Celestial Empire_, and four by Dr. Williams in a now forgotten
handbook of Chinese. The remaining one hundred and forty-nine have
never before, to my knowledge, been translated into English. To those,
however, who can enjoy the _Liao-Chai_ in the original text, the
distinctions between the various stories of felicity in plot,
originality, and so on, are far less sharply defined, so impressed as
each competent reader must be by the incomparable style in which even
the meanest is arrayed. For in this respect, as important now in
Chinese eyes as it was with ourselves in days not long gone by, the
author of the _Liao-Chai_ and the rejected candidate succeeded in
founding a school of his own, in which he has since been followed by
hosts of servile imitators with more or less success. Terseness is
pushed to its extreme limits; each particle that can be safely
dispensed with is scrupulously eliminated; and every here and there
some new and original combination invests perhaps a single word with a
force it could never have possessed except under the hands of a
perfect master of his art. Add to the above, copious allusions and
adaptations from a course of reading which would seem to have been
co-extensive with the whole range of Chinese literature, a wealth of
metaphor and an artistic use of figures generally to which only the
_chef-d’œuvres_ of Carlyle form an adequate parallel; and the result
is a work which for purity and beauty of style is now universally
accepted in China as the best and most perfect model. Sometimes the
story runs along plainly and smoothly enough; but the next moment we
may be plunged into pages of abstruse text, the meaning of which is so
involved in quotations from and allusions to the poetry or history of
the past three thousand years as to be recoverable only after diligent
perusal of the commentary and much searching in other works of
reference. In illustration of the popularity of this book, Mr. Mayers
once stated that “the porter at his gate, the boatman at his mid-day
rest, the chair-coolie at his stand, no less than the man of letters
among his books, may be seen poring with delight over the
elegantly-narrated marvels of the _Liao-Chai_;” but he would doubtless
have withdrawn this judgment in later years, with the work lying open
before him. Ever since I have been in China, I have made a point of
never, when feasible, passing by a reading Chinaman without asking
permission to glance at the volume in his hand; and at my various
stations in China I have always kept up a borrowing acquaintance with
the libraries of my private or official servants; but I can safely
affirm that I have not once detected the _Liao-Chai_ in the hands of
an ill-educated man. Mr. Mayers made, perhaps, a happier hit when he
observed that “fairy-tales told in the style of the _Anatomy of
Melancholy_ would scarcely be a popular book in Great Britain;” though
except in some particular points of contact, the styles of these two
writers could scarcely claim even the most distant of relationships.
Such, then, is the setting of this collection of _Strange Stories from
a Chinese Studio_, many of which contain, in addition to the
advantages of style and plot, a very excellent moral. The intention of
most of them is, in the actual words of T‘ang Mêng-lai, “to glorify
virtue and to censure vice,”--always, it must be borne in mind,
according to the Chinese and not to a European interpretation of these
terms. As an addition to our knowledge of the folk-lore of China, and
as an _aperçu_ of the manners, customs, and social life of that vast
Empire, my translation of the _Liao-Chai_ may not be wholly devoid of
interest. The amusement and instruction I have myself derived from the
task thus voluntarily imposed has already more than repaid me for the
pains I have been at to put this work before the English public in a
pleasing and available form.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “How can a statement as to customs, myths, beliefs, &c., of a
savage tribe, be treated as evidence, where it depends on the
testimony of some traveller or missionary, who may be a superficial
observer, more or less ignorant of the native language, a careless
retailer of unsifted talk, a man prejudiced or even wilfully
deceitful?”--TYLOR’S _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p. 9.
[2] Said of the bogies of the hills, in allusion to their _clothes_.
Here quoted with reference to the official classes, in ridicule of the
title under which they hold posts which, from a literary point of
view, they are totally unfit to occupy.
[3] A celebrated statesman (B.C. 314) who, having lost his master’s
favour by the intrigues of a rival, finally drowned himself in
despair. The Annual Dragon Festival is said by some to be a “search”
for his body.
[4] A poem addressed by San-lü to his Prince, after his disgrace. Its
non-success was the immediate cause of his death.
[5] That is, of the supernatural generally.
[6] A poet of the T‘ang Dynasty whose eyebrows met, whose nails were
very long, and who could write very fast.
[7] “You know the music of earth,” said the Taoist sage, Chuang-tzŭ;
“but you have not heard the music of heaven.”
[8] That is, to the operation of some influence surviving from a
previous existence.
[9] This is another hit at the ruling classes. Chi K‘ang, a celebrated
musician and alchemist (A.D. 223-262), was sitting one night alone,
playing upon his lute, when suddenly a man with a tiny face walked in,
and began to stare hard at him, the stranger’s face enlarging all the
time. “I’m not going to match myself against a devil!” cried the
musician, after a few moments, and instantly blew out the light.
[10] When Liu Chüan, Governor of Wu-ling, determined to relieve his
poverty by trade, he saw a devil standing by his side, laughing and
rubbing his hands for glee. “Poverty and wealth are matters of
destiny,” said Liu Chüan; “But to be laughed at by a devil----,” and
accordingly he desisted from his intention.
[11] A writer who flourished in the early part of the fourth century,
and composed a work in thirty books entitled _Supernatural
Researches_.
[12] The famous poet, statesman, and essayist, who flourished A.D.
1036-1101.
[13] “And his friends had the habit of jotting down for his unfailing
delight anything quaint or comic that they came across.”--_The World_
on Charles Dickens: 24th July 1878.
[14] It is related in the _Historical Record_ that when T‘ai Po and Yü
Chung visited the southern savages they saw men with tattooed bodies
and short hair.
[15] A fabulous community, placed by geographers to the west of the
Dragon city--wherever that may be. So called because the heads of the
men are in the habit of leaving their bodies, and flying down to
marshy places to feed on worms and crabs. A red ring is seen the night
before the flight encircling the neck of the man whose head is about
to fly. At daylight the head returns.
[16] A quotation from the admired works of Wang Po, a brilliant
scholar and poet, who was drowned at the early age of twenty-eight,
A.D. 675.
[17] I have hitherto failed in all attempts to identify this
quotation.
[18] The cross-road of the “Five Fathers” is here mentioned, which the
commentator tells us is merely the name of the place.
[19] The past, present, and future life, of the Buddhist system of
metempsychosis.
[20] A certain man, who was staying at a temple, dreamt that an old
priest appeared to him beneath a jade-stone cliff, and, pointing to a
stick of burning incense, said to him, “That incense represents a vow
to be fulfilled; but I say unto you, that ere its smoke shall have
curled away, your three states of existence will have been already
accomplished.” The meaning is that time on earth is as nothing to the
Gods.
[21] This remark occurs in the fifteenth of the Confucian Gospels,
section 22.
[22] The birth of a boy was formerly signalled by hanging a bow at the
door; that of a girl, by displaying a small towel--indicative of the
parts that each would hereafter play in the drama of life.
[23] See note 42 to No. II.
[24] Literally, “ploughing with my pen.”
[25] The _patra_ or bowl, used by Buddhist mendicants, in imitation of
the celebrated alms-dish of Shâkyamuni Buddha.
[26] Literally, “scratched my head,” as is often done by the Chinese
in perplexity or doubt.
[27] Alluding to the priest Dharma-nandi, who came from India to
China, and tried to convert the Emperor Wu Ti of the Liang Dynasty;
but, failing in his attempt, he retired full of mortification to a
temple at Sung-shan, where he sat for nine years before a rock, until
his own image was imprinted thereon.
[28] The six _gâti_ or conditions of existence, namely: angels, men,
demons, hungry devils, brute beasts, and tortured sinners.
[29] Literally, “putting together the pieces under the forelegs (of
foxes) to make robes.” This part of the fox-skin is the most valuable
for making fur clothes.
[30] The work of a well-known writer, named Lin I-ch‘ing, who
flourished during the Sung Dynasty.
[31] Alluding to an essay by Han Fei, a philosopher of the third
century B.C., in which he laments the iniquity of the age in general,
and the corruption of officials in particular. He finally committed
suicide in prison, where he had been cast by the intrigues of a rival
minister.
[32] Confucius (_Gospel_ xiv., sec. 37) said, “Alas! there is no one
who knows me (to be what I am).”
[33] The great poet Tu Fu (A.D. 712-770) dreamt that his greater
predecessor, Li T‘ai-po (A.D. 699-762) appeared to him, “coming when
the maple-grove was in darkness, and returning while the frontier-pass
was still obscured;”--that is, at night, when no one could see him;
the meaning being that he never came at all, and that those “who know
me (P‘u Sung-ling)” are equally non-existent.
[34] “Thus, since countless things exist that the senses _can_ take
account of, it is evident that nothing exists that the senses can
_not_ take account of.”--The “Professor” in W. H. Mallock’s _New Paul
and Virginia_.
This passage recalls another curious classification by the great
Chinese philosopher Han Wên-kung. “There are some things which possess
form but are devoid of sound, as for instance jade and stones; others
have sound but are without form, such as wind and thunder; others
again have both form and sound, such as men and animals; and lastly,
there is a class devoid of both, namely, _devils and spirits_.”
[35] I have never seen any of these works, but I believe they treat,
as implied by their titles, chiefly of the supernatural world.
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
I.
EXAMINATION FOR THE POST OF GUARDIAN ANGEL.[36]
My eldest sister’s husband’s grandfather, named Sung Tao, was a
graduate.[37] One day, while lying down from indisposition, an
official messenger arrived, bringing the usual notification in his
hand and leading a horse with a white forehead, to summon him to the
examination for his master’s degree. Mr. Sung here remarked that the
Grand Examiner had not yet come, and asked why there should be this
hurry. The messenger did not reply to this, but pressed so earnestly
that at length Mr. Sung roused himself, and getting upon the horse
rode with him. The way seemed strange, and by-and-by they reached a
city which resembled the capital of a prince. They then entered the
Prefect’s _yamên_,[38] the apartments of which were beautifully
decorated; and there they found some ten officials sitting at the
upper end, all strangers to Mr. Sung, with the exception of one whom
he recognised to be the God of War.[39] In the verandah were two
tables and two stools, and at the end of one of the former a candidate
was already seated, so Mr. Sung sat down alongside of him. On the
table were writing materials for each, and suddenly down flew a piece
of paper with a theme on it, consisting of the following eight
words:--“One man, two men; by intention, without intention.” When Mr.
Sung had finished his essay, he took it into the hall. It contained
the following passage: “Those who are virtuous by intention, though
virtuous, shall not be rewarded. Those who are wicked without
intention, though wicked, shall receive no punishment.” The presiding
deities praised this sentiment very much, and calling Mr. Sung to come
forward, said to him, “A Guardian Angel is wanted in Honan. Go you and
take up the appointment.” Mr. Sung no sooner heard this than he bowed
his head and wept, saying, “Unworthy though I am of the honour you
have conferred upon me, I should not venture to decline it but that my
aged mother has reached her seventh decade, and there is no one now to
take care of her. I pray you let me wait until she has fulfilled her
destiny, when I will hold myself at your disposal.” Thereupon one of
the deities, who seemed to be the chief, gave instructions to search
out his mother’s term of life, and a long-bearded attendant forthwith
brought in the Book of Fate. On turning it over, he declared that she
still had nine years to live; and then a consultation was held among
the deities, in the middle of which the God of War said, “Very well.
Let Mr. graduate Chang take the post, and be relieved in nine years’
time.” Then, turning to Mr. Sung, he continued, “You ought to proceed
without delay to your post; but as a reward for your filial piety, you
are granted a furlough of nine years. At the expiration of that time
you will receive another summons.” He next addressed a few kind words
to Mr. Chang; and the two candidates, having made their _kotow_, went
away together. Grasping Mr. Sung’s hand, his companion, who gave
“Chang Ch‘i of Ch‘ang-shan” as his name and address, accompanied him
beyond the city walls and gave him a stanza of poetry at parting. I
cannot recollect it all, but in it occurred this couplet:--
“With wine and flowers we chase the hours,
In one eternal spring:
No moon, no light, to cheer the night--
Thyself that ray must bring.”
Mr. Sung here left him and rode on, and before very long reached his
own home; here he awaked as if from a dream, and found that he had
been dead three days,[40] when his mother, hearing a groan in the
coffin, ran to it and helped him out. It was some time before he could
speak, and then he at once inquired about Ch‘ang-shan, where, as it
turned out, a graduate named Chang had died that very day.
Nine years afterwards, Mr. Sung’s mother, in accordance with fate,
passed from this life; and when the funeral obsequies were over, her
son, having first purified himself, entered into his chamber and died
also. Now his wife’s family lived within the city, near the western
gate; and all of a sudden they beheld Mr. Sung, accompanied by
numerous chariots and horses with carved trappings and red-tasselled
bits, enter into the hall, make an obeisance, and depart. They were
very much disconcerted at this, not knowing that he had become a
spirit, and rushed out into the village to make inquiries, when they
heard he was already dead. Mr. Sung had an account of his adventure
written by himself; but unfortunately after the insurrection it was
not to be found. This is only an outline of the story.
FOOTNOTES:
[36] The tutelar deity of every Chinese city.
[37] That is, he had taken the first or bachelor’s degree. I shall not
hesitate to use strictly English equivalents for all kinds of Chinese
terms. The three degrees are literally, (1) Cultivated Talent, (2)
Raised Man, and (3) Promoted Scholar.
[38] The official residence of a mandarin above a certain rank.
[39] The Chinese Mars. A celebrated warrior, named Kuan Yü, who lived
about the beginning of the third century of our era. He was raised
after death to the rank of a God, and now plays a leading part in the
Chinese Pantheon.
[40] Catalepsy, which is the explanation of many a story in this
collection, would appear to be of very common occurrence amongst the
Chinese. Such, however, is not the case; in which statement I am borne
out by my friend, Dr. Manson, of Amoy, who, after many years’ practice
among the natives of that port, and also of Formosa, informs me that
he has never even heard of a single instance of this strange
complaint.
II.
THE TALKING PUPILS.
At Ch‘ang-ngan there lived a scholar, named Fang Tung, who though by
no means destitute of ability was a very unprincipled rake, and in the
habit of following and speaking to any woman he might chance to meet.
The day before the spring festival of Clear Weather,[41] he was
strolling about outside the city when he saw a small carriage with red
curtains and an embroidered awning, followed by a crowd of
waiting-maids on horseback, one of whom was exceedingly pretty, and
riding on a small palfrey. Going closer to get a better view, Mr. Fang
noticed that the carriage curtain was partly open, and inside he
beheld a beautifully dressed girl of about sixteen, lovely beyond
anything he had ever seen. Dazzled by the sight, he could not take his
eyes off her; and, now before, now behind, he followed the carriage
for many a mile. By-and-by he heard the young lady call out to her
maid, and, when the latter came alongside, say to her, “Let down the
screen for me. Who is this rude fellow that keeps on staring so?” The
maid accordingly let down the screen, and looking angrily at Mr. Fang,
said to him, “This is the bride of the Seventh Prince in the City of
Immortals going home to see her parents, and no village girl that you
should stare at her thus.” Then taking a handful of dust, she threw it
at him and blinded him. He rubbed his eyes and looked round, but the
carriage and horses were gone. This frightened him, and he went off
home, feeling very uncomfortable about the eyes. He sent for a doctor
to examine his eyes, and on the pupils was found a small film, which
had increased by next morning, the eyes watering incessantly all the
time. The film went on growing, and in a few days was as thick as a
cash.[42] On the right pupil there came a kind of spiral, and as no
medicine was of any avail, the sufferer gave himself up to grief and
wished for death. He then bethought himself of repenting of his
misdeeds, and hearing that the _Kuang-ming_ sutra could relieve
misery, he got a copy and hired a man to teach it to him. At first it
was very tedious work, but by degrees he became more composed, and
spent every evening in a posture of devotion, telling his beads. At
the end of a year he had arrived at a state of perfect calm, when one
day he heard a small voice, about as loud as a fly’s, calling out from
his left eye:--“It’s horridly dark in here.” To this he heard a reply
from the right eye, saying, “Let us go out for a stroll, and cheer
ourselves up a bit.” Then he felt a wriggling in his nose which made
it itch, just as if something was going out of each of the nostrils;
and after a while he felt it again as if going the other way.
Afterwards he heard a voice from one eye say, “I hadn’t seen the
garden for a long time: the epidendrums are all withered and dead.”
Now Mr. Fang was very fond of these epidendrums, of which he had
planted a great number, and had been accustomed to water them himself;
but since the loss of his sight he had never even alluded to them.
Hearing, however, these words, he at once asked his wife why she had
let the epidendrums die. She inquired how he knew they were dead, and
when he told her she went out to see, and found them actually withered
away. They were both very much astonished at this, and his wife
proceeded to conceal herself in the room. She then observed two tiny
people, no bigger than a bean, come down from her husband’s nose and
run out of the door, where she lost sight of them. In a little while
they came back and flew up to his face, like bees or beetles seeking
their nests. This went on for some days, until Mr. Fang heard from the
left eye, “This roundabout road is not at all convenient. It would be
as well for us to make a door.” To this the right eye answered, “My
wall is too thick; it wouldn’t be at all an easy job.” “I’ll try and
open mine,” said the left eye, “and then it will do for both of us.”
Whereupon Mr. Fang felt a pain in his left eye as if something was
being split, and in a moment he found he could see the tables and
chairs in the room. He was delighted at this and told his wife, who
examined his eye and discovered an opening in the film, through which
she could see the black pupil shining out beneath, the eyeball itself
looking like a cracked pepper-corn. By next morning the film had
disappeared, and when his eye was closely examined it was observed to
contain two pupils. The spiral on the right eye remained as before;
and then they knew that the two pupils had taken up their abode in one
eye. Further, although Mr. Fang was still blind of one eye, the sight
of the other was better than that of the two together. From this time
he was more careful of his behaviour, and acquired in his part of the
country the reputation of a virtuous man.[43]
FOOTNOTES:
[41] One of the twenty-four solar terms. It falls on or about the 5th
of April, and is the special time for worshipping at the family tombs.
[42] The common European name for the only Chinese coin, about twenty
of which go to a penny. Each has a square hole in the middle, for the
convenience of stringing them together; hence the expression “strings
of cash.”
[43] The belief that the human eye contains a tiny being of the human
shape is universal in China. It originated, of course, from the
reflection of oneself that is seen on looking into the pupil of
anybody’s eye, or even, with the aid of a mirror, into one’s own.
III.
THE PAINTED WALL.
A Kiang-si gentleman, named Mêng Lung-t‘an, was lodging at the capital
with a Mr. Chu, M.A., when one day chance led them to a certain
monastery, within which they found no spacious halls or meditation
chambers, but only an old priest in _deshabille_. On observing the
visitors, he arranged his dress and went forward to meet them, leading
them round and showing whatever there was to be seen. In the chapel
they saw an image of Chih Kung, and the walls on either side were
beautifully painted with life-like representations of men and things.
On the east side were pictured a number of fairies, among whom was a
young girl whose maiden tresses were not yet confined by the matron’s
knot. She was picking flowers and gently smiling, while her cherry
lips seemed about to move, and the moisture of her eyes to overflow.
Mr. Chu gazed at her for a long time without taking his eyes off,
until at last he became unconscious of anything but the thoughts that
were engrossing him. Then, suddenly, he felt himself floating in the
air, as if riding on a cloud, and found himself passing through the
wall,[44] where halls and pavilions stretched away one after another,
unlike the abodes of mortals. Here an old priest was preaching the Law
of Buddha, surrounded by a large crowd of listeners. Mr. Chu mingled
with the throng, and after a few moments perceived a gentle tug at his
sleeve. Turning round, he saw the young girl above-mentioned, who
walked laughing away. Mr. Chu at once followed her, and passing a
winding balustrade arrived at a small apartment beyond which he dared
not venture further. But the young lady, looking back, waved the
flowers she had in her hand as though beckoning him to come on. He
accordingly entered and found nobody else within. Then they fell on
their knees and worshipped heaven and earth together,[45] and rose up
as man and wife, after which the bride went away, bidding Mr. Chu keep
quiet until she came back. This went on for a couple of days, when the
young lady’s companions began to smell a rat and discovered Mr. Chu’s
hiding-place. Thereupon they all laughed and said, “My dear, you are
now a married woman, and should leave off that maidenly _coiffure_.”
So they gave her the proper hair-pins and head ornaments, and bade her
go bind her hair, at which she blushed very much but said nothing.
Then one of them cried out, “My sisters, let us be off. Two’s
company, more’s none.” At this they all giggled again and went away.