of Li-ch‘êng, when a young man, was very badly off, but was endowed
with considerable physical courage. Now in his part of the country
there was a large establishment, covering several acres, with an
unbroken succession of pavilions and verandahs, and belonging to one
of the old county families; but because ghosts and apparitions were
frequently seen there, the place had for a long time remained
untenanted, and was overgrown with grass and weeds, no one venturing
to enter in even in broad daylight. One evening when Yin was carousing
with some fellow-students, one of them jokingly said, “If anybody will
pass a night in the haunted house, the rest of us will stand him a
dinner.” Mr. Yin jumped up at this, and cried out, “What is there
difficult in that?” So, taking with him a sleeping-mat, he proceeded
thither, escorted by all his companions as far as the door, where
they laughed and said, “We will wait here a little while. In case you
see anything, shout out to us at once.” “If there are any goblins or
foxes,” replied Yin, “I’ll catch them for you.” He then went in, and
found the paths obliterated by long grass, which had sprung up,
mingled with weeds of various kinds. It was just the time of the new
moon, and by its feeble light he was able to make out the door of the
house. Feeling his way, he walked on until he reached the back
pavilion, and then went up on to the Moon Terrace, which was such a
pleasant spot that he determined to stop there. Gazing westwards, he
sat for a long time looking at the moon--a single thread of light
embracing in its horns the peak of a hill--without hearing anything at
all unusual; so, laughing to himself at the nonsense people talked, he
spread his mat upon the floor, put a stone under his head for a
pillow, and lay down to sleep. He had watched the Cow-herd and the
Lady[55] until they were just disappearing, and was on the point of
dropping off, when suddenly he heard footsteps down below coming up
the stairs. Pretending to be asleep, he saw a servant enter, carrying
in his hand a lotus-shaped lantern,[56] who, on observing Mr. Yin,
rushed back in a fright, and said to someone behind, “There is a
stranger here!” The person spoken to asked who it was, but the servant
did not know; and then up came an old gentleman, who, after examining
Mr. Yin closely, said, “It’s the future President: he’s as drunk as
can be. We needn’t mind him; besides, he’s a good fellow, and won’t
give us any trouble.” So they walked in and opened all the doors; and
by-and-by there were a great many other people moving about, and
quantities of lamps were lighted, till the place was as light as day.
About this time Mr. Yin slightly changed his position, and sneezed;
upon which the old man, perceiving that he was awake, came forward and
fell down on his knees, saying, “Sir, I have a daughter who is to be
married this very night. It was not anticipated that Your Honour would
be here. I pray, therefore, that we may be excused.” Mr. Yin got up
and raised the old man, regretting that, in his ignorance of the
festive occasion, he had brought with him no present.[57] “Ah, Sir,”
replied the old man, “your very presence here will ward off all
noxious influences; and that is quite enough for us.” He then begged
Mr. Yin to assist in doing the honours, and thus double the obligation
already conferred. Mr. Yin readily assented, and went inside to look
at the gorgeous arrangements they had made. He was here met by a lady,
apparently about forty years of age, whom the old gentleman introduced
as his wife; and he had hardly made his bow when he heard the sound of
flageolets,[58] and someone came hurrying in, saying, “He has come!”
The old gentleman flew out to meet this personage, and Mr. Yin also
stood up, awaiting his arrival. In no long time, a bevy of people with
gauze lanterns ushered in the bridegroom himself, who seemed to be
about seventeen or eighteen years old, and of a most refined and
prepossessing appearance. The old gentleman bade him pay his respects
first to their worthy guest; and upon his looking towards Mr. Yin,
that gentleman came forward to welcome him on behalf of the host. Then
followed ceremonies between the old man and his son-in-law; and when
these were over, they all sat down to supper. Hosts of waiting-maids
brought in profuse quantities of wine and meats, with bowls and cups
of jade or gold, till the table glittered again. And when the wine had
gone round several times, the old gentleman told one of the maids to
summon the bride. This she did, but some time passed and no bride
came. So the old man rose and drew aside the curtain, pressing the
young lady to come forth; whereupon a number of women escorted out the
bride, whose ornaments went _tinkle tinkle_ as she walked along, sweet
perfumes being all the time diffused around. Her father told her to
make the proper salutation, after which she went and sat by her
mother. Mr. Yin took a glance at her, and saw that she wore on her
head beautiful ornaments made of kingfisher’s feathers, her beauty
quite surpassing anything he had ever seen. All this time they had
been drinking their wine out of golden goblets big enough to hold
several pints, when it flashed across him that one of these goblets
would be a capital thing to carry back to his companions in evidence
of what he had seen. So he secreted it in his sleeve, and, pretending
to be tipsy,[59] leaned forward with his head upon the table as if
going off to sleep. “The gentleman is drunk,” said the guests; and
by-and-by Mr. Yin heard the bridegroom take his leave, and there was a
general trooping downstairs to the tune of a wedding march. When they
were all gone the old gentleman collected the goblets, one of which
was missing, though they hunted high and low to find it. Someone
mentioned the sleeping guest; but the old gentleman stopped him at
once for fear Mr. Yin should hear, and before long silence reigned
throughout. Mr. Yin then arose. It was dark, and he had no light; but
he could detect the lingering smell of the food, and the place was
filled with the fumes of wine. Faint streaks of light now appearing in
the east, he began quietly to make a move, having first satisfied
himself that the goblet was still in his sleeve. Arriving at the door,
he found his friends already there; for they had been afraid he might
come out after they left, and go in again early in the morning. When
he produced the goblet they were all lost in astonishment; and on
hearing his story, they were fain to believe it, well knowing that a
poor student like Yin was not likely to have such a valuable piece of
plate in his possession.
Later on Mr. Yin took his doctor’s degree, and was appointed
magistrate over the district of Fei-ch‘iu, where there was an
old-established family of the name of Chu. The head of the family
asked him to a banquet in honour of his arrival, and ordered the
servants to bring in the large goblets. After some delay a slave-girl
came and whispered something to her master which seemed to make him
very angry. Then the goblets were brought in, and Mr. Yin was invited
to drink. He now found that these goblets were of precisely the same
shape and pattern as the one he had at home, and at once begged his
host to tell him where he had had these made. “Well,” said Mr. Chu,
“there should be eight of them. An ancestor of mine had them made,
when he was a minister at the capital, by an experienced artificer.
They have been handed down in our family from generation to
generation, and have now been carefully laid by for some time; but I
thought we would have them out to-day as a compliment to your Honour.
However, there are only seven to be found. None of the servants can
have touched them, for the old seals of ten years ago are still upon
the box, unbroken. I don’t know what to make of it.” Mr. Yin laughed,
and said, “It must have flown away! Still, it is a pity to lose an
heir-loom of that kind; and as I have a very similar one at home, I
shall take upon myself to send it to you.” When the banquet was over,
Mr. Yin went home, and taking out his own goblet, sent it off to Mr.
Chu. The latter was somewhat surprised to find that it was identical
with his own, and hurried away to thank the magistrate for his gift,
asking him at the same time how it had come into his possession. Mr.
Yin told him the whole story, which proves conclusively that although
a fox may obtain possession of a thing, even at a distance of many
hundred miles, he will not venture to keep it altogether.[60]
FOOTNOTES:
[54] One of the “Six Boards” at the capital, equivalent to our own War
Office, Board of Works, etc.
[55] The Chinese names for two stars: βγ Aquila and α Lyra.
[56] Lanterns very prettily made to resemble all kinds of flowers are
to be seen at the Chinese New Year.
[57] This is, as with us, obligatory on all friends invited to a
marriage.
[58] The accompaniment of all weddings and funerals in China.
[59] The soberest people in the world, amongst whom anything like
sottishness is comparatively unknown, think it no disgrace, but rather
complimentary, to get pleasantly tipsy on all festive occasions; and
people who are physically unable to do so, frequently go so far as to
hire substitutes to drink for them. Mandarins especially suffer very
much from the custom of being obliged to “take wine” with a large
number of guests. For further on this subject, see No. LIV., note 292.
[60] The wedding-party was, of course, composed entirely of foxes;
this animal being believed by the Chinese to be capable of appearing
at will under the human form, and of doing either good or evil to its
friends or foes. These facts will be prominently brought out in
several of the stories to follow.
VIII.
MISS CHIAO-NO.
K‘ung Hsüeh-li was a descendant of Confucius.[61] He was a man of
considerable ability, and an excellent poet.[62] A fellow-student, to
whom he was much attached, became magistrate at T‘ien-t‘ai, and sent
for K‘ung to join him. Unfortunately, just before K‘ung arrived his
friend died, and he found himself without the means of returning home;
so he took up his abode in a Buddhist monastery, where he was employed
in transcribing for the priests. Several hundred paces to the west of
this monastery there was a house belonging to a Mr. Shan, a gentleman
who had known better days, but who had spent all his money in a heavy
law-suit; and then, as his family was a small one, had gone away to
live in the country and left his house vacant. One day there was a
heavy fall of snow which kept visitors away from the monastery; and
K‘ung, finding it dull, went out. As he was passing by the door of the
house above-mentioned, a young man of very elegant appearance came
forth, who, the moment he saw K‘ung, ran up to him, and with a bow,
entered into conversation, asking him to be pleased to walk in. K‘ung
was much taken with the young man, and followed him inside. The rooms
were not particularly large, but adorned throughout with embroidered
curtains, and from the walls hung scrolls and drawings by celebrated
masters. On the table lay a book, the title of which was, “Jottings
from Paradise;” and turning over its leaves, K‘ung found therein many
strange things. He did not ask the young man his name, presuming that
as he lived in the Shan family mansion, he was necessarily the owner
of the place. The young man, however, inquired what he was doing in
that part of the country, and expressed great sympathy with his
misfortunes, recommending him to set about taking pupils. “Alas!” said
K‘ung, “who will play the Mæcenas to a distressed wayfarer like
myself?” “If,” replied the young man, “you would condescend so far, I
for my part would gladly seek instruction at your hands.” K‘ung was
much gratified at this, but said he dared not arrogate to himself the
position of teacher, and begged merely to be considered as the young
man’s friend. He then asked him why the house had been shut up for so
long; to which the young man replied, “This is the Shan family
mansion. It has been closed all this time because of the owner’s
removal into the country. My surname is Huang-fu, and my home is in
Shen-si; but as our house has been burnt down in a great fire, we have
put up here for a while.” Thus Mr. K‘ung found out that his name was
not Shan. That evening they spent in laughing and talking together,
and K‘ung remained there for the night. In the morning a lad came in
to light the fire; and the young man, rising first, went into the
private part of the house. Mr. K‘ung was sitting up with the
bed-clothes still huddled round him, when the lad looked in and said,
“Master’s coming!” So he jumped up with a start, and in came an old
man with a silvery beard, who began to thank him, saying, “I am very
much obliged to you for your condescension in becoming my son’s tutor.
At present he writes a villainous hand; and I can only hope you will
not allow the ties of friendship to interfere with discipline.”
Thereupon, he presented Mr. K‘ung with an embroidered suit of clothes,
a sable hat, and a set of shoes and stockings; and when the latter had
washed and dressed himself he called for wine and food. K‘ung could
not make out what the valances of the chairs and tables were made of:
they were so very bright-coloured and dazzling. By-and-by, when the
wine had circulated several times, the old gentleman picked up his
walking-stick and took his leave. After breakfast, the young man
handed in his theme, which turned out to be written in an archaic
style, and not at all after the modern fashion of essay-writing. K‘ung
asked him why he had done this, to which the young man replied that he
did not contemplate competing at the public examinations. In the
evening they had another drinking-bout, but it was agreed that there
should be no more of it after that night. The young man then called
the boy and told him to see if his father was asleep or not; adding,
that if he was, he might quietly summon Miss Perfume. The boy went
off, first taking a guitar out of a very pretty case; and in a few
minutes in came a very nice-looking young girl. The young man bade
her play the _Death of Shun_;[63] and seizing an ivory plectrum she
swept the chords, pouring forth a vocal melody of exquisite sweetness
and pathos. He then gave her a goblet of wine to drink, and it was
midnight before they parted. Next morning they got up early and
settled down to work. The young man proved an apt scholar; he could
remember what he had once read, and at the end of two or three months
had made astonishing progress. Then they agreed that every five days
they would indulge in a symposium, and that Miss Perfume should always
be of the party. One night when the wine had gone into K‘ung’s head,
he seemed to be lost in a reverie; whereupon his young friend, who
knew what was the matter with him, said, “This girl was brought up by
my father. I know you find it lonely, and I have long been looking out
for a nice wife for you.” “Let her only resemble Miss Perfume,” said
K‘ung, “and she will do.” “Your experience,” said the young man,
laughing, “is but limited, and, consequently, anything is a surprise
to you. If Miss Perfume is your _beau ideal_, why it will not be
difficult to satisfy you.”
Some six months had passed away, when one day Mr. K‘ung took it into
his head that he would like to go out for a stroll in the country. The
entrance, however, was carefully closed; and on asking the reason, the
young man told him that his father wished to receive no guests for
fear of causing interruption to his studies. So K‘ung thought no more
about it; and by-and-by, when the heat of summer came on, they moved
their study to a pavilion in the garden. At this time Mr. K‘ung had a
swelling on the chest about as big as a peach, which, in a single
night, increased to the size of a bowl. There he lay groaning with the
pain, while his pupil waited upon him day and night. He slept badly
and took hardly any food; and in a few days the place got so much
worse that he could neither eat nor drink. The old gentleman also came
in, and he and his son lamented over him together. Then the young man
said, “I was thinking last night that my sister, Chiao-no, would be
able to cure Mr. K‘ung, and accordingly I sent over to my
grandmother’s asking her to come. She ought to be here by now.” At
that moment a servant entered and announced Miss Chiao-no, who had
come with her cousin, having been at her aunt’s house. Her father and
brother ran out to meet her, and then brought her in to see Mr. K‘ung.
She was between thirteen and fourteen years old, and had beautiful
eyes with a very intelligent expression in them, and a most graceful
figure besides. No sooner had Mr. K‘ung beheld this lovely creature
than he quite forgot to groan, and began to brighten up. Meanwhile the
young man was saying, “This respected friend of mine is the same to
me as a brother. Try, sister, to cure him.” Miss Chiao-no immediately
dismissed her blushes, and rolling up her long sleeves approached the
bed to feel his pulse.[64] As she was grasping his wrist, K‘ung became
conscious of a perfume more delicate than that of the epidendrum; and
then she laughed, saying, “This illness was to be expected; for the
heart is touched. Though it is severe, a cure can be effected; but, as
there is already a swelling, not without using the knife.” Then she
drew from her arm a gold bracelet which she pressed down upon the
suffering spot, until by degrees the swelling rose within the bracelet
and overtopped it by an inch and more, the outlying parts that were
inflamed also passing under, and thus very considerably reducing the
extent of the tumour. With one hand she opened her robe and took out a
knife with an edge as keen as paper, and pressing the bracelet down
all the time with the other, proceeded to cut lightly round near the
root of the swelling. The dark blood gushed forth, and stained the bed
and the mat; but Mr. K‘ung was delighted to be near such a
beauty,--not only felt no pain, but would willingly have continued the
operation that she might sit by him a little longer. In a few moments
the whole thing was removed, and the place looked like the knot on a
tree where a branch has been cut away. Here Miss Chiao-no called for
water to wash the wound, and from between her lips she took a red pill
as big as a bullet, which she laid upon the flesh, and, after drawing
the skin together, passed round and round the place. The first turn
felt like the searing of a hot iron; the second like a gentle itching;
and at the third he experienced a sensation of lightness and coolness
which penetrated into his very bones and marrow. The young lady then
returned the pill to her mouth, and said, “He is cured,” hurrying away
as fast as she could. Mr. K‘ung jumped up to thank her, and found that
his complaint had quite disappeared. Her beauty, however, had made
such an impression on him that his troubles were hardly at an end.
From this moment he gave up his books, and took no interest in
anything. This state of things was soon noticed by the young man, who
said to him, “My brother, I have found a fine match for you.” “Who is
it to be?” asked K‘ung. “Oh, one of the family,” replied his friend.
Thereupon Mr. K‘ung remained some time lost in thought, and at length
said, “Please don’t!” Then turning his face to the wall, he repeated
these lines:--
“Speak not of lakes and streams to him who once has seen the sea;
The clouds that circle Wu’s peak are the only clouds for me.”
The young man guessed to whom he was alluding, and replied, “My father
has a very high opinion of your talents, and would gladly receive you
into the family, but that he has only one daughter, and she is much
too young. My cousin, Ah-sung, however, is seventeen years old, and
not at all a bad-looking girl. If you doubt my word, you can wait in
the verandah until she takes her daily walk in the garden, and thus
judge for yourself.” This Mr. K‘ung acceded to, and accordingly saw
Miss Chiao-no come out with a lovely girl--her black eyebrows
beautifully arched, and her tiny feet encased in phœnix-shaped
shoes--as like one another as they well could be. He was of course
delighted, and begged the young man to arrange all preliminaries; and
the very next day his friend came to tell him that the affair was
finally settled. A portion of the house was given up to the bride and
bridegroom, and the marriage was celebrated with plenty of music and
hosts of guests, more like a fairy wedding than anything else. Mr.
K‘ung was very happy, and began to think that the position of Paradise
had been wrongly laid down, until one day the young man came to him
and said, “For the trouble you have been at in teaching me, I shall
ever remain your debtor. At the present moment, the Shan family
law-suit has been brought to a termination, and they wish to resume
possession of their house immediately. We therefore propose returning
to Shen-si, and as it is unlikely that you and I will ever meet again,
I feel very sorrowful at the prospect of parting.” Mr. K‘ung replied
that he would go too, but the young man advised him to return to his
old home. This, he observed, was no easy matter; upon which the young
man said, “Don’t let that trouble you: I will see you safe there.”
By-and-by his father came in with Mr. K‘ung’s wife, and presented Mr.
K‘ung with one hundred ounces of gold; and then the young man gave the
husband and wife each one of his hands to grasp, bidding them shut
their eyes. The next instant they were floating away in the air, with
the wind whizzing in their ears. In a little while he said, “You have
arrived,” and opening his eyes, K‘ung beheld his former home. Then he
knew that the young man was not a human being. Joyfully he knocked at
the old door, and his mother was astonished to see him arrive with
such a nice wife. They were all rejoicing together, when he turned
round and found that his friend had disappeared. His wife attended on
her mother-in-law with great devotion, and acquired a reputation both
for virtue and beauty, which was spread round far and near. Some time
passed away, and then Mr. K‘ung took his doctor’s degree, and was
appointed Governor of the Gaol in Yen-ngan. He proceeded to his post
with his wife only, the journey being too long for his mother, and
by-and-by a son was born. Then he got into trouble by being too honest
an official, and threw up his appointment; but had not the wherewithal
to get home again. One day when out hunting he met a handsome young
man riding on a nice horse, and seeing that he was staring very hard
looked closely at him. It was young Huang-fu. So they drew bridle, and
fell to laughing and crying by turns,--the young man then inviting
K‘ung to go along with him. They rode on together until they had
reached a village thickly shaded with trees, so that the sun and sky
were invisible overhead, and entered into a most elaborately-decorated
mansion, such as might belong to an old-established family. K‘ung
asked after Miss Chiao-no, and heard that she was married; also that
his own mother-in-law was dead, at which tidings he was greatly moved.
Next day he went back and returned again with his wife. Chiao-no also
joined them, and taking up K‘ung’s child played with it, saying, “Your
mother played us truant.” Mr. K‘ung did not forget to thank her for
her former kindness to him, to which she replied, “You’re a great man
now. Though the wound has healed, haven’t you forgotten the pain yet?”
Her husband, too, came to pay his respects, returning with her on the
following morning. One day the young Huang-fu seemed troubled in
spirit, and said to Mr. K‘ung, “A great calamity is impending. Can you
help us?” Mr. K‘ung did not know what he was alluding to, but readily
promised his assistance. The young man then ran out and summoned the
whole family to worship in the ancestral hall, at which Mr. K‘ung was
alarmed, and asked what it all meant. “You know,” answered the young
man, “I am not a man but a fox. To-day we shall be attacked by
thunder;[65] and if only you will aid us in our trouble, we may still
hope to escape. If you are unwilling, take your child and go, that you
may not be involved with us.” Mr. K‘ung protested he would live or die
with them, and so the young man placed him with a sword at the door,
bidding him remain quiet there in spite of all the thunder. He did as
he was told, and soon saw black clouds obscuring the light until it
was all as dark as pitch. Looking round, he could see that the house
had disappeared, and that its place was occupied by a huge mound and a
bottomless pit. In the midst of his terror, a fearful peal was heard
which shook the very hills, accompanied by a violent wind and driving
rain. Old trees were torn up, and Mr. K‘ung became both dazed and
deaf. Yet he stood firm until he saw in a dense black column of smoke
a horrid thing with a sharp beak and long claws, with which it
snatched some one from the hole, and was disappearing up with the
smoke. In an instant K‘ung knew by her clothes and shoes that the
victim was no other than Chiao-no, and instantly jumping up he struck
the devil violently with his sword, and cut it down. Immediately the
mountains were riven, and a sharp peal of thunder laid K‘ung dead upon
the ground. Then the clouds cleared away, and Chiao-no gradually came
round, to find K‘ung dead at her feet. She burst out crying at the
sight, and declared that she would not live since K‘ung had died for
her. K‘ung’s wife also came out, and they bore the body inside.
Chiao-no then made Ah-sung hold her husband’s head, while her brother
prised open his teeth with a hair-pin, and she herself arranged his
jaw. She next put a red pill into his mouth, and bending down breathed
into him. The pill went along with the current of air, and presently
there was a gurgle in his throat, and he came round. Seeing all the
family about him, he was disturbed as if waking from a dream. However
they were all united together, and fear gave place to joy; but Mr.
K‘ung objected to live in that out-of-the-way place, and proposed that
they should return with him to his native village. To this they were
only too pleased to assent--all except Chiao-no; and when Mr. K‘ung
invited her husband, Mr. Wu, as well, she said she feared her father
and mother-in-law would not like to lose the children. They had tried
all day to persuade her, but without success, when suddenly in rushed
one of the Wu family’s servants, dripping with perspiration and quite
out of breath. They asked what was the matter, and the servant replied
that the Wu family had been visited by a calamity on the very same
day, and had every one perished. Chiao-no cried very bitterly at this,
and could not be comforted; but now there was nothing to prevent them
from all returning together. Mr. K‘ung went into the city for a few
days on business, and then they set to work packing-up night and day.
On arriving at their destination, separate apartments were allotted to
young Mr. Huang-fu, and these he kept carefully shut up, only opening
the door to Mr. K‘ung and his wife.
Mr. K‘ung amused himself with the young man and his sister Chiao-no,
filling up the time with chess,[66] wine, conversation, and good
cheer, as if they had been one family. His little boy, Huan, grew up
to be a handsome young man, with a fox-like _penchant_ for roaming
about; and it was generally known that he was actually the son of a
fox.
FOOTNOTES:
[61] Lineal descendants of Confucius are to be found at this day near
their founder’s mausoleum in Shantung. The head of the family is a
hereditary _kung_ or “duke,” and each member enjoys a share of the
revenues with which the family has been endowed, in well-merited
recognition of the undying influence of China’s greatest sage.
[62] More or less proficiency in the art of poetry is an absolutely
essential qualification for all who present themselves at the great
competitive tests by which successful candidates are admitted to
Chinese official life. [See _Appendix_ A.] The following anecdote is
given by the London correspondent of the _Leeds Mercury_:--