literary ability, and perhaps one of the few diplomatists since the
days of Matthew Prior (Lord Lytton alone excepted) who has achieved
distinction as a poet. Shortly after his arrival in this country, he
expressed a wish to become acquainted with the principal English
poets, and as Mr. Browning is more accessible and more a man of the
world than the Poet Laureate, an arrangement was made the other day by
which the two should be brought in contact with one another. After the
mutual courtesies, Mr. Browning having learnt that His Excellency was
also a poet, expressed a desire to know how much he had published.
“Only three or four volumes,” was the reply, through the interpreter.
“Then,” said Mr. Browning, “I am a greater offender than His
Excellency, and unequal to him in self-restraint. What kind of poetry
does His Excellency write: pastoral, humorous, epic or what?” There
was a pause for a short time. At length the interpreter said that His
Excellency thought his poetry would be better described as the
“enigmatic.” “Surely,” replied Mr. Browning, “there ought then to be
the deepest sympathy between us, for that is just the criticism which
is brought against my own works; and I believe it to be a just one.””
[63] One of the two celebrated but legendary rulers of China in the
golden ages of antiquity. Yao--who died B.C. 2258--nominated as his
successor a young and virtuous husbandman named Shun, giving him both
his daughters in marriage. At the death of Shun, these ladies are said
to have wept so much that their tears literally drenched the bamboos
which grew beside their husband’s grave; and the speckled bamboo is
now commonly known as the bamboo of Shun’s wives.
[64] Volumes have been written by Chinese doctors on the subject of
the pulse. They profess to distinguish as many as twenty-four
different kinds, among which is one well known to our own
practitioners--namely, the “thready” pulse; they, moreover, make a
point of feeling the pulses of _both_ wrists.
[65] The Chinese believe that wicked people are struck by the God of
Thunder, and killed in punishment for some hidden crime. They regard
lightning merely as an arrangement by which the God is enabled to see
his victim.
[66] Chinese “chess” is similar to, but not identical with, our game.
The board is divided by a river, and the king is confined to a small
square of moves on his own territory. The game _par excellence_ in
China is _wei-ch‘i_, an account of which I contributed to the _Temple
Bar_ Magazine for January, 1877.
IX.
MAGICAL ARTS.
A certain Mr. Yü was a spirited young fellow, fond of boxing and
trials of strength. He was able to take two kettles and swing them
round about with the speed of the wind. Now, during the reign of
Ch‘ung Chêng,[67] when up for the final examination at the capital,
his servant became seriously ill. Much troubled at this, he applied to
a necromancer in the market-place[68] who was skilful at determining
the various leases of life allotted to men. Before he had uttered a
word, the necromancer asked him, saying, “Is it not about your
servant, Sir, that you would consult me?” Mr. Yü was startled at this,
and replied that it was. “The sick man,” continued the necromancer,
“will come to no harm; you, Sir, are the one in danger.” Mr. Yü then
begged him to cast his nativity, which he proceeded to do, finally
saying to Mr. Yü, “You have but three days to live!” Dreadfully
frightened, he remained some time in a state of stupefaction, when the
necromancer quietly observed that he possessed the power of averting
this calamity by magic, and would exert it for the sum of ten ounces
of silver. But Mr. Yü reflected that Life and Death are already
fixed,[69] and he didn’t see how magic could save him. So he refused,
and was just going away, whereupon the necromancer said, “You grudge
this trifling outlay. I hope you will not repent it.” Mr. Yü’s friends
also urged him to pay the money, advising him rather to empty his
purse than not secure the necromancer’s compassion. Mr. Yü, however,
would not hear of it and the three days slipped quickly away. Then he
sat down calmly in his inn to see what was going to happen. Nothing
did happen all day, and at night he shut his door and trimmed the
lamp; then, with a sword at his side, he awaited the approach of
death.
By-and-by, the clepsydra[70] shewed that two hours had already gone
without bringing him any nearer to dissolution; and he was thinking
about lying down, when he heard a scratching at the window, and then
saw a tiny little man creep through, carrying a spear on his shoulder,
who, on reaching the ground, shot up to the ordinary height. Mr. Yü
seized his sword and at once struck at it; but only succeeded in
cutting the air. His visitor instantly shrunk down small again, and
made an attempt to escape through the crevice of the window; but Yü
redoubled his blows and at last brought him to the ground. Lighting
the lamp, he found only a paper man,[71] cut right through the middle.
This made him afraid to sleep, and he sat up watching, until in a
little time he saw a horrid hobgoblin creep through the same place. No
sooner did it touch the ground than he assailed it lustily with his
sword, at length cutting it in half. Seeing, however, that both halves
kept on wriggling about, and fearing that it might get up again, he
went on hacking at it. Every blow told, giving forth a hard sound, and
when he came to examine his work, he found a clay image all knocked to
pieces. Upon this he moved his seat near to the window, and kept his
eye fixed upon the crack. After some time, he heard a noise like a
bull bellowing outside the window, and something pushed against the
window-frame with such force as to make the whole house tremble and
seem about to fall. Mr. Yü, fearing he should be buried under the
ruins, thought he could not do better than fight outside; so he
accordingly burst open the door with a crash and rushed out. There he
found a huge devil, as tall as the house, and he saw by the dim light
of the moon that its face was as black as coal. Its eyes shot forth
yellow fire: it had nothing either upon its shoulders or feet; but
held a bow in its hand and had some arrows at its waist. Mr. Yü was
terrified; and the devil discharged an arrow at him which he struck to
the ground with his sword. On Mr. Yü preparing to strike, the devil
let off another arrow which the former avoided by jumping aside, the
arrow quivering in the wall beyond with a smart crack. The devil here
got very angry, and drawing his sword flourished it like a whirlwind,
aiming a tremendous blow at Mr. Yü. Mr. Yü ducked, and the whole force
of the blow fell upon the stone wall of the house, cutting it right in
two. Mr. Yü then ran out from between the devil’s legs, and began
hacking at its back--whack!--whack! The devil now became furious, and
roared like thunder, turning round to get another blow at his
assailant. But Mr. Yü again ran between his legs, the devil’s sword
merely cutting off a piece of his coat. Once more he hacked
away--whack!--whack!--and at length the devil came tumbling down flat.
Mr. Yü cut at him right and left, each blow resounding like the
watchman’s wooden gong;[72] and then, bringing a light, he found it
was a wooden image about as tall as a man. The bow and arrows were
still there, the latter attached to its waist. Its carved and painted
features were most hideous to behold; and wherever Mr. Yü had struck
it with his sword, there was blood. Mr. Yü sat with the light in his
hand till morning, when he awaked to the fact that all these devils
had been sent by the necromancer in order to kill him, and so evidence
his own magical power. The next day, after having told the story far
and wide, he went with some others to the place where the necromancer
had his stall; but the latter, seeing them coming, vanished in the
twinkling of an eye. Some one observed that the blood of a dog would
reveal a person who had made himself invisible, and Mr. Yü immediately
procured some and went back with it. The necromancer disappeared as
before, but on the spot where he had been standing they quickly threw
down the dog’s blood. Thereupon they saw his head and face all smeared
over with the blood, his eyes glaring like a devil’s; and at once
seizing him, they handed him over to the authorities, by whom he was
put to death.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] The last emperor of the Ming dynasty. Began to reign A.D. 1628.
[68] The trade of fortune-teller is one of the most flourishing in
China. A large majority of the candidates who are unsuccessful at the
public examinations devote their energies in this direction; and in
every Chinese city there are regular establishments whither the
superstitious people repair to consult the oracle on every imaginable
subject; not to mention hosts of itinerant soothsayers, both in town
and country, whose stock-in-trade consists of a trestle-table, pen,
ink, and paper, and a few other mysterious implements of their art.
The nature of the response, favourable or otherwise, is determined by
an inspection of the year, month, day and hour at which the applicant
was born, taken in combination with other particulars referring to the
question at issue.
[69] A firm belief in predestination is an important characteristic of
the Chinese mind. “All is destiny” is a phrase daily in the mouth of
every man, woman, and child, in the empire. Confucius himself, we are
told, objected to discourse to his disciples upon this topic; but it
is evident from many passages in the _Lun Yü_, or _Confucian Gospels_,
[Book VI. ch. 8., Book XIV. ch. 38, &c.] that he believed in a certain
pre-arrangement of human affairs, against which all efforts would be
unavailing.
[70] An appliance of very ancient date in China, now superseded by
cheap clocks and watches. A large clepsydra, consisting of four copper
jars standing on steps one above the other, is still, however, to be
seen in the city of Canton, and is in excellent working order, the
night-watches being determined by reference to its indicator in the
lower jar. By its aid, coils of “joss-stick,” or pastille, are
regulated to burn so many hours, and are sold to the poor, who use
them both for the purpose of guiding their extremely vague notions of
time, and for the oft-recurring tobacco-pipe.
[71] “Paper men” are a source of great dread to the people at large.
During the year 1876 whole provinces were convulsed by the belief that
some such superstitious agency was at work to deprive innocent persons
of their tails; and the so-called “Pope” of the Taoist religion even
went so far as to publish a charm against the machinations of the
unseen. It ran as follows:--“Ye who urge filthy devils to spy out the
people!--the Master’s spirits are at hand and will soon discover you.
With this charm anyone may travel by sunlight, moonlight, or starlight
all over the earth.” At one time popular excitement ran so high that
serious consequences were anticipated; and the mandarins in the
affected districts found it quite as much as they could do to prevent
lynch-law being carried out on harmless strangers who were unlucky
enough to give rise to the slightest suspicion.
Taoist priests are generally credited with the power of cutting out
human, animal, or other figures, of infusing vitality into them on the
spot, and of employing them for purposes of good or evil.
[72] Watchmen in China, when on their nightly rounds, keep up an
incessant beating on what, for want of a better term, we have called a
wooden gong. The object is to let thieves know they are awake and on
the look-out.
X.
JOINING THE IMMORTALS.
A Mr. Chou, of Wên-têng, had in his youth been fellow-student with a
Mr. Ch‘êng, and a firm friendship was the result. The latter was poor,
and depended very much upon Chou, who was the elder of the two. He
called Chou’s wife his “sister,” and had the run of the house just as
if he was one of the family. Now this wife happening to die in
child-bed, Chou married another named Wang; but as she was quite a
young girl, Ch‘êng did not seek to be introduced.[73] One day her
younger brother came to visit her, and was being entertained in the
“inner” apartments[74] when Ch‘êng chanced to call. The servant
announced his arrival, and Chou bade him ask Mr. Ch‘êng in. But Ch‘êng
would not enter, and took his leave. Thereupon Chou caused the
entertainment to be moved into the public part of the house, and,
sending after Ch‘êng, succeeded in bringing him back. They had hardly
sat down before some one came in to say that a former servant of the
establishment had been severely beaten at the magistrate’s yamên; the
facts of the case being that a cow-boy of the Huang family connected
with the Board of Rites had driven his cattle across the Chou family’s
land, and that words had arisen between the two servants in
consequence; upon which the Huang family’s servant had complained to
his master, who had seized the other and had sent him in to the
magistrate’s, where he had been bambooed. When Mr. Chou found out what
the matter was, he was exceedingly angry, and said, “How dares this
pig-boy fellow behave thus? Why, only a generation ago his master was
my father’s servant! He emerges a little from his obscurity, and
immediately thinks himself I don’t know what!” Swelling with rage, he
rose to go in quest of Huang, but Ch‘êng held him back, saying, “The
age is corrupt: there is no distinction between right and wrong.
Besides, the officials of the day are half of them thieves, and you
will only get yourself into hot water.” Chou, however, would not
listen to him; and it was only when tears were added to remonstrances
that he consented to let the matter drop. But his anger did not cease,
and he lay tossing and turning all night. In the morning he said to
his family, “I can stand the insults of Mr. Huang; but the magistrate
is an officer of the Government, and not the servant of influential
people. If there is a case of any kind, he should hear both plaintiff
and defendant, and not act like a dog, biting anybody he is set upon.
I will bring an action against the cow-boy, and see what the
magistrate will do to him.” As his family rather egged him on, he
accordingly proceeded to the magistrate’s and entered a formal plaint;
but that functionary tore up his petition, and would have nothing to
do with it. This roused Chou’s anger, and he told the magistrate
plainly what he thought of him, in return for which contempt of court
he was at once seized and bound. During the forenoon Mr. Ch‘êng called
at his house, where he learnt that Chou had gone into the city to
prosecute the cow-boy, and immediately hurried after him with a view
to stop proceedings. But his friend was already in the gaol, and all
he could do was to stamp his foot in anger. Now it happened that three
pirates had just been caught; and the magistrate and Huang, putting
their heads together, bribed these fellows to say that Chou was one of
their gang, whereupon the higher authorities were petitioned to
deprive him of his status as a graduate,[75] and the magistrate then
had him most unmercifully bambooed.[76] Mr. Ch‘êng gained admittance
to the gaol, and, after a painful interview, proposed that a petition
should be presented direct to the Throne. “Alas!” cried Chou, “here
am I bound and guarded, like a bird in a cage. I have indeed a young
brother, but it is as much as he can do to provide me with food.” Then
Ch‘êng stepped forward, saying, “I will perform this service. Of what
use are friends who will not assist in the hour of trouble?” So away
he went, and Chou’s son provided him with money to defray his
expenses. After a long journey he arrived at the capital, where he
found himself quite at a loss as to how he should get the petition
presented. However, hearing that the Emperor was about to set out on a
hunting tour, he concealed himself in the market-place, and when His
Majesty passed by, prostrated himself on the ground with loud cries
and gesticulations. The Emperor received his petition, and sent it to
the Board of Punishments,[77] desiring to be furnished with a report
on the case. It was then more than ten months since the beginning of
the affair, and Chou, who had been made to confess[78] to this false
charge, was already under sentence of death; so that the officers of
the Board were very much alarmed when they received the Imperial
instructions, and set to work to re-hear the case in person. Huang was
also much alarmed, and devised a plan for killing Mr. Chou by bribing
the gaolers to stop his food and drink; so that when his brother
brought provisions he was rudely thrust back and prevented from
taking them in. Mr. Ch‘êng complained of this to the Viceroy of the
province, who investigated the matter himself, and found that Chou was
in the last stage of starvation, for which the gaolers were bambooed
to death. Terrified out of his wits, Huang, by dint of bribing
heavily, succeeded in absconding and escaping a just punishment for
his crimes. The magistrate, however, was banished for perversion of
the law, and Chou was permitted to return home, his affection for
Ch‘êng being now very much increased. But ever after the prosecution
and his friend’s captivity, Mr. Ch‘êng took a dismal view of human
affairs, and one day invited Chou to retire with him from the world.
The latter, who was deeply attached to his young wife, threw cold
water on the proposition, and Mr. Ch‘êng pursued the subject no
farther, though his own mind was fully made up. Not seeing him for
some days afterwards, Mr. Chou sent to inquire about him at his house;
but there they all thought he was at Chou’s, neither family, in fact,
having seen anything of him. This looked suspicious, and Chou, aware
of his peculiarity, sent off people to look for him, bidding them
search all the temples and monasteries in the neighbourhood. He also
from time to time supplied Ch‘êng’s son with money and other
necessaries.