style of her hair. The high top-knot and the coronet of pendants were
very becoming to her. But suddenly they heard a sound like the
tramping of heavy-soled boots, accompanied by the clanking of chains
and the noise of angry discussion. The bride jumped up in a fright,
and she and Mr. Chu peeped out. They saw a man clad in golden armour,
with a face as black as jet, carrying in his hand chains and whips,
and surrounded by all the girls. He asked, “Are you all here?” “All,”
they replied. “If,” said he, “any mortal is here concealed amongst
you, denounce him at once, and lay not up sorrow for yourselves.” Here
they all answered as before that there was no one. The man then made a
movement as if he would search the place, upon which the bride was
dreadfully alarmed, and her face turned the colour of ashes. In her
terror she said to Mr. Chu, “Hide yourself under the bed,” and opening
a small lattice in the wall, disappeared herself. Mr. Chu in his
concealment hardly dared to draw his breath; and in a little while he
heard the boots tramp into the room and out again, the sound of the
voices getting gradually fainter and fainter in the distance. This
reassured him, but he still heard the voices of people going backwards
and forwards outside; and having been a long time in a cramped
position, his ears began to sing as if there was a locust in them,
and his eyes to burn like fire. It was almost unbearable; however, he
remained quietly awaiting the return of the young lady without giving
a thought to the why and wherefore of his present position.
Meanwhile, Mêng Lung-t‘an had noticed the sudden disappearance of his
friend, and thinking something was wrong, asked the priest where he
was. “He has gone to hear the preaching of the Law,” replied the
priest. “Where?” said Mr. Mêng. “Oh, not very far,” was the answer.
Then with his finger the old priest tapped the wall and called out,
“Friend Chu! what makes you stay away so long?” At this, the likeness
of Mr. Chu was figured upon the wall, with his ear inclined in the
attitude of one listening. The priest added, “Your friend here has
been waiting for you some time;” and immediately Mr. Chu descended
from the wall, standing transfixed like a block of wood, with starting
eyeballs and trembling legs. Mr. Mêng was much terrified, and asked
him quietly what was the matter. Now the matter was that while
concealed under the bed he had heard a noise resembling thunder and
had rushed out to see what it was.
Here they all noticed that the young lady on the wall with the
maiden’s tresses had changed the style of her _coiffure_ to that of a
married woman. Mr. Chu was greatly astonished at this and asked the
old priest the reason.
He replied, “Visions have their origin in those who see them: what
explanation can I give?” This answer was very unsatisfactory to Mr.
Chu; neither did his friend, who was rather frightened, know what to
make of it all; so they descended the temple steps and went away.
FOOTNOTES:
[44] Which will doubtless remind the reader of _Alice through the
Looking-glass, and what she saw there_.
[45] The all-important item of a Chinese marriage ceremony; amounting,
in fact, to calling God to witness the contract.
IV.
PLANTING A PEAR-TREE.
A countryman was one day selling his pears in the market. They were
unusually sweet and fine flavoured, and the price he asked was high. A
Taoist[46] priest in rags and tatters stopped at the barrow and
begged one of them. The countryman told him to go away, but as he did
not do so he began to curse and swear at him. The priest said, “You
have several hundred pears on your barrow; I ask for a single one, the
loss of which, Sir, you would not feel. Why then get angry?” The
lookers-on told the countryman to give him an inferior one and let him
go, but this he obstinately refused to do. Thereupon the beadle of the
place, finding the commotion too great, purchased a pear and handed it
to the priest. The latter received it with a bow and turning to the
crowd said, “We who have left our homes and given up all that is dear
to us[47] are at a loss to understand selfish niggardly conduct in
others. Now I have some exquisite pears which I shall do myself the
honour to put before you.” Here somebody asked, “Since you have pears
yourself, why don’t you eat those?” “Because,” replied the priest, “I
wanted one of these pips to grow them from.” So saying, he munched up
the pear; and when he had finished took a pip in his hand, unstrapped
a pick from his back, and proceeded to make a hole in the ground,
several inches deep, wherein he deposited the pip, filling in the
earth as before. He then asked the bystanders for a little hot water
to water it with, and one among them who loved a joke fetched him some
boiling water from a neighbouring shop. The priest poured this over
the place where he had made the hole, and every eye was fixed upon him
when sprouts were seen shooting up, and gradually growing larger and
larger. By-and-by, there was a tree with branches sparsely covered
with leaves; then flowers, and last of all fine, large, sweet-smelling
pears hanging in great profusion. These the priest picked and handed
round to the assembled crowd until all were gone, when he took his
pick and hacked away for a long time at the tree, finally cutting it
down. This he shouldered, leaves and all, and sauntered quietly away.
Now, from the very beginning, our friend the countryman had been
amongst the crowd, straining his neck to see what was going on, and
forgetting all about his business. At the departure of the priest he
turned round and discovered that every one of his pears was gone. He
then knew that those the old fellow had been giving away so freely
were really his own pears. Looking more closely at the barrow he also
found that one of the handles was missing, evidently having been newly
cut off. Boiling with rage, he set out in pursuit of the priest, and
just as he turned the corner he saw the lost barrow-handle lying under
the wall, being in fact the very pear-tree that the priest had cut
down. But there were no traces of the priest--much to the amusement of
the crowd in the market-place.
FOOTNOTES:
[46] That is, of the religion of _Tao_, or, as it is sometimes called,
_Rationalism_. It was founded some six centuries before the Christian
era by a man named Lao-tzŭ, “Old boy,” who was said to have been born
with white hair and a beard. Originally a pure system of metaphysics,
it is now but a shadow of its former self, and is corrupted by the
grossest forms of superstition borrowed from Buddhism, which has in
its turn adopted many of the forms and beliefs of Taoism, so that the
two religions are hardly distinguishable one from the other.
“What seemed to me the most singular circumstance connected with the
matter, was the presence of half-a-dozen Taoist priests, who joined in
all the ceremonies, doing everything that the Buddhist priests did,
and presenting a very odd appearance, with their top-knots and cues,
among their closely shaven Buddhist brethren. It seemed strange that
the worship of Sakyamuni by celibate Buddhist priests, with shaved
heads, into which holes were duly burned at their initiation, should
be participated in by married Taoist priests, whose heads are not
wholly shaven, and have never been burned.”--_Initiation of Buddhist
Priests at Kooshan_, by S. L. B.
Taoist priests are credited with a knowledge of alchemy and the black
art in general.
[47] A celibate priesthood belongs properly to Buddhism, and is not a
doctrine of the Taoist church.
V.
THE TAOIST PRIEST OF LAO-SHAN.
There lived in our village a Mr. Wang, the seventh son in an old
family. This gentleman had a _penchant_ for the Taoist religion; and
hearing that at Lao-shan there were plenty of Immortals,[48]
shouldered his knapsack and went off for a tour thither. Ascending a
peak of the mountain he reached a secluded monastery where he found a
priest sitting on a rush mat, with long hair flowing over his neck,
and a pleasant expression on his face. Making a low bow, Wang
addressed him thus:--“Mysterious indeed is the doctrine: I pray you,
Sir, instruct me therein.” “Delicately-nurtured and wanting in energy
as you are,” replied the priest, “I fear you could not support the
fatigue.” “Try me,” said Wang. So when the disciples, who were very
many in number, collected together at dusk, Wang joined them in making
obeisance to the priest, and remained with them in the monastery. Very
early next morning the priest summoned Wang, and giving him a hatchet
sent him out with the others to cut firewood. Wang respectfully
obeyed, continuing to work for over a month until his hands and feet
were so swollen and blistered that he secretly meditated returning
home. One evening when he came back he found two strangers sitting
drinking with his master. It being already dark, and no lamp or
candles having been brought in, the old priest took some scissors and
cut out a circular piece of paper like a mirror, which he proceeded to
stick against the wall. Immediately it became a dazzling moon, by the
light of which you could have seen a hair or a beard of corn. The
disciples all came crowding round to wait upon them, but one of the
strangers said, “On a festive occasion like this we ought all to enjoy
ourselves together.” Accordingly he took a kettle of wine from the
table and presented it to the disciples, bidding them drink each his
fill; whereupon our friend Wang began to wonder how seven or eight of
them could all be served out of a single kettle. The disciples, too,
rushed about in search of cups, each struggling to get the first drink
for fear the wine should be exhausted. Nevertheless, all the
candidates failed to empty the kettle, at which they were very much
astonished, when suddenly one of the strangers said, “You have given
us a fine bright moon; but it’s dull work drinking by ourselves. Why
not call Ch‘ang-ngo[49] to join us?” He then seized a chop-stick and
threw it into the moon, whereupon a lovely girl stepped forth from its
beams. At first she was only a foot high, but on reaching the ground
lengthened to the ordinary size of women. She had a slender waist and
a beautiful neck, and went most gracefully through the Red Garment
figure.[50] When this was finished she sang the following words:--
“Ye fairies! ye fairies! I’m coming back soon,
Too lonely and cold is my home in the moon.”
Her voice was clear and well sustained, ringing like the notes of a
flageolet, and when she had concluded her song she pirouetted round
and jumped up on the table, where, with every eye fixed in
astonishment upon her, she once more became a chop-stick. The three
friends laughed loudly, and one of them said, “We are very jolly
to-night, but I have hardly room for any more wine. Will you drink a
parting glass with me in the palace of the moon?” They then took up
the table and walked into the moon where they could be seen drinking
so plainly, that their eyebrows and beards appeared like reflections
in a looking-glass. By-and-by the moon became obscured; and when the
disciples brought a lighted candle they found the priest sitting in
the dark alone. The viands, however, were still upon the table and the
mirror-like piece of paper on the wall. “Have you all had enough to
drink?” asked the priest; to which they answered that they had. “In
that case,” said he, “you had better get to bed, so as not to be
behindhand with your wood-cutting in the morning.” So they all went
off, and among them Wang, who was delighted at what he had seen, and
thought no more of returning home. But after a time he could not stand
it any longer; and as the priest taught him no magical arts he
determined not to wait, but went to him and said, “Sir, I travelled
many long miles for the benefit of your instruction. If you will not
teach me the secret of Immortality, let me at any rate learn some
trifling trick, and thus soothe my cravings for a knowledge of your
art. I have now been here two or three months, doing nothing but chop
firewood, out in the morning and back at night, work to which I was
never accustomed in my own home.” “Did I not tell you,” replied the
priest, “that you would never support the fatigue? To-morrow I will
start you on your way home.” “Sir,” said Wang, “I have worked for you
a long time. Teach me some small art, that my coming here may not have
been wholly in vain.” “What art?” asked the priest. “Well,” answered
Wang, “I have noticed that whenever you walk about anywhere, walls and
so on are no obstacle to you. Teach me this, and I’ll be satisfied.”
The priest laughingly assented, and taught Wang a formula which he
bade him recite. When he had done so he told him to walk through the
wall; but Wang, seeing the wall in front of him, didn’t like to walk
at it. As, however, the priest bade him try, he walked quietly up to
it and was there stopped. The priest here called out, “Don’t go so
slowly. Put your head down and rush at it.” So Wang stepped back a few
paces and went at it full speed; and the wall yielding to him as he
passed, in a moment he found himself outside. Delighted at this, he
went in to thank the priest, who told him to be careful in the use of
his power, or otherwise there would be no response, handing him at the
same time some money for his expenses on the way. When Wang got home,
he went about bragging of his Taoist friends and his contempt for
walls in general; but as his wife disbelieved his story, he set about
going through the performance as before. Stepping back from the wall,
he rushed at it full speed with his head down; but coming in contact
with the hard bricks, finished up in a heap on the floor. His wife
picked him up and found he had a bump on his forehead as big as a
large egg, at which she roared with laughter; but Wang was overwhelmed
with rage and shame, and cursed the old priest for his base
ingratitude.
FOOTNOTES:
[48] The “angels” of Taoism--immortality in a happy land being the
reward held out for a life on earth in accordance with the doctrines
of Tao, for which, as Mr. Chalmers says, “three terms suggest
themselves--the Way, Reason, and the _Word_; but they are all liable
to objection.”
Taoist priests are believed by some to possess an elixir of
immortality in the form of a precious liquor; others again hold that
the elixir consists solely in a virtuous conduct of life.
[49] The beautiful wife of a legendary chieftain, named Hou I, who
flourished about 2,500 B.C. She is said to have stolen from her
husband the elixir of immortality, and to have fled with it to the
moon.
[50] The name of a celebrated _pas seul_ of antiquity.
VI.
THE BUDDHIST PRIEST OF CH‘ANG-CH‘ING.
At Ch‘ang-ch‘ing there lived a Buddhist priest of exceptional virtue
and purity of conduct, who, though over eighty years of age, was still
hale and hearty. One day he fell down and could not move; and when the
other priests rushed to help him up, they found he was already gone.
The old priest was himself unconscious of death, and his soul flew
away to the borders of the province of Honan. Now it chanced that the
scion of an old family residing in Honan, had gone out that very day
with some ten or a dozen followers to hunt the hare with falcons;[51]
but his horse having run away with him he fell off and was killed.
Just at that moment the soul of the priest came by and entered into
the body, which thereupon gradually recovered consciousness. The
servants crowded round to ask him how he felt, when opening his eyes
wide, he cried out, “How did I get here?” They assisted him to rise,
and led him into the house, where all his ladies came to see him and
inquire how he did. In great amazement he said, “I am a Buddhist
priest. How came I hither?” His servants thought he was wandering, and
tried to recall him by pulling his ears. As for himself, he could make
nothing of it, and closing his eyes refrained from saying anything
further. For food, he would only eat rice, refusing all wine and meat;
and avoided the society of his wives.[52] After some days he felt
inclined for a stroll, at which all his family were delighted; but no
sooner had he got outside and stopped for a little rest than he was
besieged by servants begging him to take their accounts as usual.
However, he pleaded illness and want of strength, and no more was
said. He then took occasion to ask if they knew the district of
Ch‘ang-ch‘ing, and on being answered in the affirmative expressed his
intention of going thither for a trip, as he felt dull and had nothing
particular to do, bidding them at the same time look after his affairs
at home. They tried to dissuade him from this on the ground of his
having but recently risen from a sick bed; but he paid no heed to
their remonstrances, and on the very next day set out. Arriving in the
Ch‘ang-ch‘ing district, he found everything unchanged; and without
being put to the necessity of asking the road, made his way straight
to the monastery. His former disciples received him with every token
of respect as an honoured visitor; and in reply to his question as to
where the old priest was, they informed him that their worthy teacher
had been dead for some time. On asking to be shewn his grave, they led
him to a spot where there was a solitary mound some three feet high,
over which the grass was not yet green. Not one of them knew his
motives for visiting this place; and by-and-by he ordered his horse,
saying to the disciples, “Your master was a virtuous priest. Carefully
preserve whatever relics of him you may have, and keep them from
injury.” They all promised to do this, and he then set off on his way
home. When he arrived there, he fell into a listless state and took
no interest in his family affairs. So much so, that after a few
months he ran away and went straight to his former home at the
monastery, telling the disciples that he was their old master. This
they refused to believe, and laughed among themselves at his
pretensions; but he told them the whole story, and recalled many
incidents of his previous life among them, until at last they were
convinced. He then occupied his old bed and went through the same
daily routine as before, paying no attention to the repeated
entreaties of his family, who came with carriages and horses to beg
him to return.
About a year subsequently, his wife sent one of the servants with
splendid presents of gold and silk, all of which he refused with the
exception of a single linen robe. And whenever any of his old friends
passed this monastery, they always went to pay him their respects,
finding him quiet, dignified, and pure. He was then barely thirty,
though he had been a priest for more than eighty years.[53]
FOOTNOTES:
[51] This form of sport may still be seen in the north of China. A
hare being started, two Chinese greyhounds (which are very slow) are
slipped from their leash in pursuit. But, as the hare would easily run
straight away from them, a falcon is released almost simultaneously.
The latter soars to a considerable height, and then swoops down on the
hare, striking it a violent blow with the “pounce,” or claw. This
partially stuns the hare, and allows the dogs to regain lost ground,
by which time the hare is ready once more, and off they go again. The
chase is ended by the hare getting to earth in a fox’s burrow, or
being ultimately overtaken by the dogs. In the latter case the heart
and liver are cut out on the spot, and given to the falcon; otherwise
he would hunt no more that day. Two falcons are often released, one
shortly after the other. They wear hoods, which are removed at the
moment of flying, and are attached by a slip-string from one leg to
the falconer’s wrist. During the night previous to a day’s hunting,
they are not allowed to sleep. Each falconer lies down with one falcon
on his left wrist, and keeps up an incessant tapping with the other on
the bird’s head. This is done to make them fierce. Should the quarry
escape, a hare’s skin is thrown down, by which means the falcons are
secured, and made ready for a further flight. Occasionally, but
rarely, the falcon misses its blow at the hare, with the result of a
broken or injured “arm.”
[52] Abstinence from wine and meat, and celibacy, are among the most
important dogmas of the Buddhist church, as specially applied to its
priesthood. At the door of every Buddhist monastery may be seen a
notice that “No wine or meat may enter here!” Even the laity are not
supposed to drink wine.
[53] Having renewed his youth by assuming the body of the young man
into which his soul had entered.
VII.
THE MARRIAGE OF THE FOX’S DAUGHTER.