died in consequence, came back to life, to the great astonishment of
everybody. However, Chu explained it, saying, “I brought him back to
life. He was the victim of a man named Li Chiu; but I drove off Li’s
spirit when it came to make the other take his place.” Chu’s mother
then asked her son why he did not get a substitute for himself; to
which he replied, “I do not like to do this. I am anxious to put an
end to, rather than take advantage of, such a system. Besides, I am
very happy waiting on you, and have no wish to be born again.” From
that time all persons who had poisoned themselves with _shui-mang_
were in the habit of feasting Chu and obtaining his assistance in
their trouble. But in ten years’ time his mother died, and he and his
wife gave themselves up to sorrow, and would see no one, bidding their
little boy put on mourning, beat his breast, and perform the proper
ceremonies. Two years after Chu had buried his mother, his son married
the granddaughter of a high official named Jen. This gentleman had had
a daughter by a concubine, who had died when only a few months old;
and now, hearing the strange story of Chu’s wife, came to call on her
and arrange the marriage. He then gave his granddaughter to Chu’s son,
and a free intercourse was maintained between the two families.
However, one day Chu said to his son, “Because I have been of service
to my generation, God has appointed me Keeper of the Dragons; and I
am now about to proceed to my post.” Thereupon four horses appeared in
the court-yard, drawing a carriage with yellow hangings, the flanks of
the horses being covered with scale-like trappings. Husband and wife
came forth in full dress, and took their seats, and, while son and
daughter-in-law were weeping their adieus, disappeared from view. That
very day the K‘ou family saw their daughter arrive, and, bidding them
farewell, she told them the same story. The old people would have kept
her, but she said, “My husband is already on his way,” and, leaving
the house, parted from them for ever. Chu’s son was named Ngo, and his
literary name was Li-ch‘ên. He begged San-niang’s bones from the K‘ou
family, and buried them by the side of his father’s.
FOOTNOTES:
[126] Probably the _Illicium religiosum_ is meant.
[127] See No. XII., note 87.
[128] The common application of the term “same-year-men,” is to
persons who have graduated at the same time.
[129] This is by no means an uncommon form of charity. During the
temporary distress at Canton, in the summer of 1877, large tubs of
gruel were to be seen standing at convenient points, ready for any
poor person who might wish to stay his hunger. It is thus, and by
similar acts of benevolence, such as building bridges, repairing
roads, etc., etc., that the wealthy Chinaman strives to maintain an
advantageous balance in his record of good and evil.
XVIII.
LITTLE CHU.
A man named Li Hua dwelt at Ch‘ang-chou. He was very well off, and
about fifty years of age, but he had no sons; only one daughter, named
Hsiao-hui, a pretty child on whom her parents doted. When she was
fourteen she had a severe illness and died, leaving their home
desolate and depriving them of their chief pleasure in life. Mr. Li
then bought a concubine, and she by-and-by bore him a son, who was
perfectly idolised, and called Chu, or the Pearl. This boy grew up to
be a fine manly fellow, though so extremely stupid that when five or
six years old he didn’t know pulse from corn, and could hardly talk
plainly. His father, however, loved him dearly, and did not observe
his faults.
Now it chanced that a one-eyed priest came to collect alms in the
town, and he seemed to know so much about everybody’s private affairs
that the people all looked upon him as superhuman. He himself declared
he had control over life, death, happiness, and misfortune; and
consequently no one dared refuse him whatever sum he chose to ask of
them. From Li he demanded one hundred ounces of silver, but was
offered only ten, which he refused to receive. This sum was increased
to thirty ounces, whereupon the priest looked sternly at Li and said,
“I must have one hundred; not a fraction less.” Li now got angry, and
went away without giving him any, the priest, too, rising up in a rage
and shouting after him, “I hope you won’t repent.” Shortly after these
events little Chu fell sick, and crawled about the bed scratching the
mat, his face being of an ashen paleness. This frightened his father,
who hurried off with eighty ounces of silver, and begged the priest to
accept them. “A large sum like this is no trifling matter to earn,”
said the priest, smiling; “but what can a poor recluse like myself do
for you?” So Li went home, to find that little Chu was already dead;
and this worked him into such a state that he immediately laid a
complaint before the magistrate. The priest was accordingly summoned
and interrogated; but the magistrate wouldn’t accept his defence, and
ordered him to be bambooed. The blows sounded as if falling on
leather, upon which the magistrate commanded his lictors to search
him; and from about his person they drew forth two wooden men, a small
coffin, and five small flags. The magistrate here flew into a passion,
and made certain mystic signs with his fingers, which when the priest
saw he was frightened, and began to excuse himself; but the magistrate
would not listen to him, and had him bambooed to death. Li thanked him
for his kindness, and, taking his leave, proceeded home. In the
evening, after dusk, he was sitting alone with his wife, when suddenly
in popped a little boy, who said, “Pa! why did you hurry on so fast?
I couldn’t catch you up.” Looking at him more closely, they saw that
he was about seven or eight years old, and Mr. Li, in some alarm, was
on the point of questioning him, when he disappeared, re-appearing
again like smoke, and, curling round and round, got upon the bed. Li
pushed him off, and he fell down without making any sound, crying out,
“Pa! why do you do this?” and in a moment he was on the bed again. Li
was frightened, and ran away with his wife, the boy calling after
them, “Pa! Ma! boo-oo-oo.” They went into the next room, bolting the
door after them; but there was the little boy at their heels again. Li
asked him what he wanted, to which he replied, “I belong to Su-chou;
my name is Chan; at six years of age I was left an orphan; my brother
and his wife couldn’t bear me, so they sent me to live at my maternal
grandfather’s. One day, when playing outside, a wicked priest killed
me by his black art underneath a mulberry-tree, and made of me an evil
spirit, dooming me to everlasting devildom without hope of
transmigration. Happily you exposed him; and I would now remain with
you as your son.” “The paths of men and devils,” replied Li, “lie in
different directions. How can we remain together?” “Give me only a
tiny room,” cried the boy, “a bed, a mattress, and a cup of cold gruel
every day. I ask for nothing more.” So Li agreed, to the great delight
of the boy, who slept by himself in another part of the house, coming
in the morning and walking in and out like any ordinary person.
Hearing Li’s concubine crying bitterly, he asked how long little Chu
had been dead, and she told him seven days. “It’s cold weather now,”
said he, “and the body can’t have decomposed. Have the grave opened,
and let me see it; if not too far gone, I can bring him to life
again.” Li was only too pleased, and went off with the boy; and when
they opened the grave they found the body in perfect preservation; but
while Li was controlling his emotions, lo! the boy had vanished from
his sight. Wondering very much at this, he took little Chu’s body
home, and had hardly laid it on the bed when he noticed the eyes move.
Little Chu then called for some broth, which put him into a
perspiration, and then he got up. They were all overjoyed to see him
come to life again; and, what is more, he was much brighter and
cleverer than before. At night, however, he lay perfectly stiff and
rigid, without shewing any signs of life; and, as he didn’t move when
they turned him over and over, they were much frightened, and thought
he had died again. But towards daybreak he awaked as if from a dream,
and in reply to their questions said that when he was with the wicked
priest there was another boy named Ko-tzŭ;[130] and that the day
before, when he had been unable to catch up his father, it was because
he had stayed behind to bid adieu to Ko-tzŭ; that Ko-tzŭ was now the
son of an official in Purgatory named Chiang, and very comfortably
settled; and that he had invited him (Chan) to go and play with him
that evening, and had sent him back on a white-nosed horse. His mother
then asked him if he had seen little Chu in Purgatory; to which he
replied, “Little Chu has already been born again. He and our father
here had not really the destiny of father and son. Little Chu was
merely a man named Yen Tzŭ-fang, from Chin-ling, who had come to
reclaim an old debt.”[131] Now Mr. Li had formerly traded to
Chin-ling, and actually owed money for goods to a Mr. Yen; but he had
died, and no one else knew anything about it, so that he was now
greatly alarmed when he heard this story. His mother next asked (the
quasi) little Chu if he had seen his sister, Hsiao-hui; and he said he
had not, promising to go again and inquire about her. A few days
afterwards he told his mother that Hsiao-hui was very happy in
Purgatory, being married to a son of one of the Judges; and that she
had any quantity of jewels,[132] and crowds of attendants when she
went abroad. “Why doesn’t she come home to see her parents?” asked his
mother. “Well,” replied the boy, “dead people, you know, haven’t got
any flesh or bones; however, if you can only remind them of something
that happened in their past lives, their feelings are at once touched.
So yesterday I managed, through Mr. Chiang, to get an interview with
Hsiao-hui; and we sat together on a coral couch, and I spoke to her
of her father and mother at home, all of which she listened to as if
she was asleep. I then remarked, ‘Sister, when you were alive you were
very fond of embroidering double-stemmed flowers; and once you cut
your finger with the scissors, and the blood ran over the silk, but
you brought it into the picture as a crimson cloud. Your mother has
that picture still, hanging at the head of her bed, a perpetual
souvenir of you. Sister, have you forgotten this?’ Then she burst into
tears, and promised to ask her husband to let her come and visit you.”
His mother asked when she would arrive; but he said he could not tell.
However, one day he ran in and cried out, “Mother, Hsiao-hui has come,
with a splendid equipage and a train of servants; we had better get
plenty of wine ready.” In a few moments he came in again, saying,
“Here is my sister,” at the same time asking her to take a seat and
rest. He then wept; but none of those present saw anything at all.
By-and-by he went out and burnt a quantity of paper money[133] and
made offerings of wine outside the door, returning shortly and saying
he had sent away her attendants for a while. Hsiao-hui then asked if
the green coverlet, a small portion of which had been burnt by a
candle, was still in existence. “It is,” replied her mother, and,
going to a box, she at once produced the coverlet. “Hsiao-hui would
like a bed made up for her in her old room,” said her (quasi) brother;
“she wants to rest awhile, and will talk with you again in the
morning.”
Now their next-door neighbour, named Chao, had a daughter who was
formerly a great friend of Hsiao-hui’s, and that night she dreamt that
Hsiao-hui appeared with a turban on her head and a red mantle over her
shoulders, and that they talked and laughed together precisely as in
days gone by. “I am now a spirit,” said Hsiao-hui, “and my father and
mother can no more see me than if I was far separated from them. Dear
sister, I would borrow your body, from which to speak to them. You
need fear nothing.” On the morrow when Miss Chao met her mother, she
fell on the ground before her and remained some time in a state of
unconsciousness, at length saying, “Madam, it is many years since we
met; your hair has become very white.” “The girl’s mad,” said her
mother, in alarm; and, thinking something had gone wrong, proceeded to
follow her out of the door. Miss Chao went straight to Li’s house, and
there with tears embraced Mrs. Li, who did not know what to make of it
all. “Yesterday,” said Miss Chao, “when I came back, I was unhappily
unable to speak with you. Unfilial wretch that I was, to die before
you, and leave you to mourn my loss. How can I redeem such behaviour?”
Her mother thereupon began to understand the scene, and, weeping,
said to her, “I have heard that you hold an honourable position, and
this is a great comfort to me; but, living as you do in the palace of
a Judge, how is it you are able to get away?” “My husband,” replied
she, “is very kind; and his parents treat me with all possible
consideration. I experience no harsh treatment at their hands.” Here
Miss Chao rested her cheek upon her hand, exactly as Hsiao-hui had
been wont to do when she was alive; and at that moment in came her
brother to say that her attendants were ready to return. “I must go,”
said she, rising up and weeping bitterly all the time; after which she
fell down, and remained some time unconscious as before.
Shortly after these events Mr. Li became dangerously ill, and no
medicines were of any avail, so that his son feared they would not be
able to save his life. Two devils sat at the head of his bed, one
holding an iron staff, the other a nettle-hemp rope four or five feet
in length. Day and night his son implored them to go, but they would
not move; and Mrs. Li in sorrow began to prepare the funeral
clothes.[134] Towards evening her son entered and cried out,
“Strangers and women, leave the room! My sister’s husband is coming to
see his father-in-law.” He then clapped his hands, and burst out
laughing. “What is the matter?” asked his mother. “I am laughing,”
answered he, “because when the two devils heard my sister’s husband
was coming, they both ran under the bed, like terrapins, drawing in
their heads.” By-and-by, looking at nothing, he began to talk about the
weather, and ask his sister’s husband how he did, and then he clapped
his hands, and said, “I begged the two devils to go, but they would
not; it’s all right now.” After this he went out to the door and
returned, saying, “My sister’s husband has gone. He took away the two
devils tied to his horse. My father ought to get better now. Besides,
Hsiao-hui’s husband said he would speak to the Judge, and obtain a
hundred years’ lease of life both for you and my father.” The whole
family rejoiced exceedingly at this, and, when night came, Mr. Li was
better, and in a few days quite well again. A tutor was engaged for
(the quasi) little Chu, who shewed himself an apt pupil, and at
eighteen years of age took his bachelor’s degree. He could also see
things of the other world; and when anyone in the village was ill, he
pointed out where the devils were, and burnt them out with fire, so
that everybody got well. However, before long he himself became very
ill, and his flesh turned green and purple; whereupon he said, “The
devils afflict me thus because I let out their secrets. Henceforth I
shall never divulge them again.”
FOOTNOTES:
[130] It may be necessary here to remind the reader that Chan’s spirit
is speaking from Chu’s body.
[131] We shall come by and by to a story illustrative of this
extraordinary belief.
[132] The _summum bonum_ of many a Chinese woman.
[133] Chinese silver, called sycee (from the Cantonese _sai see_ “fine
silk;” because, if pure, it may be drawn out under the application of
heat into fine silk threads), is cast in the form of “shoes,” weighing
from one to one hundred ounces. Paper imitations of these are burnt
for the use of the spirits in the world below. The sharp edges of a
“shoe” of sycee are caused by the mould containing the molten silver
being gently shaken until the metal has set, with a view to secure
uniform fineness throughout the lump.
[134] Death is regarded as a summons from the authorities of
Purgatory; lictors are sent to arrest the doomed man, armed with a
written warrant similar to those issued on earth from a magistrate’s
yamên.
XIX.
MISS QUARTA HU.
Mr. Shang was a native of T‘ai-shan, and lived quietly with his books
alone. One autumn night when the Silver River[135] was unusually
distinct and the moon shining brightly in the sky, he was walking up
and down under the shade, with his thoughts wandering somewhat at
random, when lo! a young girl leaped over the wall, and, smiling,
asked him, “What are you thinking about, Sir, all so deeply?” Shang
looked at her, and seeing that she had a pretty face, asked her to
walk in. She then told him her name was Hu,[136] and that she was
called Tertia; but when he wanted to know where she lived, she laughed
and would not say. So he did not inquire any further; and by degrees
they struck up a friendship, and Miss Tertia used to come and chat
with him every evening. He was so smitten that he could hardly take
his eyes off her, and at last she said to him, “What _are_ you
looking at?” “At you,” cried he, “my lovely rose, my beautiful peach.
I could gaze at you all night long.” “If you think so much of poor
me,” answered she, “I don’t know where your wits would be if you saw
my sister Quarta.” Mr. Shang said he was sorry he didn’t know her, and
begged that he might be introduced; so next night Miss Tertia brought
her sister, who turned out to be a young damsel of about fifteen, with
a face delicately powdered and resembling the lily, or like an
apricot-flower seen through mist; and altogether as pretty a girl as
he had ever seen. Mr. Shang was charmed with her, and inviting them
in, began to laugh and talk with the elder, while Miss Quarta sat
playing with her girdle, and keeping her eyes on the ground. By-and-by
Miss Tertia got up and said she was going, whereupon her sister rose
to take leave also; but Mr. Shang asked her not to be in a hurry, and
requested the elder to assist in persuading her. “You needn’t hurry,”
said she to Miss Quarta; and accordingly the latter remained chatting
with Mr. Shang without reserve, and finally told him she was a fox.
However, Mr. Shang was so occupied with her beauty, that he didn’t pay
any heed to that; but she added, “And my sister is very dangerous; she
has already killed three people. Any one bewitched by her has no
chance of escape. Happily, you have bestowed your affections on me,
and I shall not allow you to be destroyed. You must break off your
acquaintance with her at once.” Mr. Shang was very frightened, and
implored her to help him; to which she replied, “Although a fox, I am
skilled in the arts of the Immortals;[137] I will write out a charm
for you which you must paste on the door, and thus you will keep her
away.” So she wrote down the charm, and in the morning when her sister
came and saw it, she fell back, crying out, “Ungrateful minx! you’ve
thrown me up for him, have you? You two being destined for each other,
what have I done that you should treat me thus?” She then went away;
and a few days afterwards Miss Quarta said she too would have to be
absent for a day, so Shang went out for a walk by himself, and
suddenly beheld a very nice-looking young lady emerge from the shade
of an old oak that was growing on the hill-side. “Why so dreadfully
pensive?” said she to him; “those Hu girls can never bring you a
single cent.” She then presented Shang with some money, and bade him
go on ahead and buy some good wine, adding, “I’ll bring something to
eat with me, and we’ll have a jolly time of it.” Shang took the money
and went home, doing as the young lady had told him; and by-and-by in
she herself came, and threw on the table a roast chicken and a
shoulder of salt pork, which she at once proceeded to cut up. They now
set to work to enjoy themselves, and had hardly finished when they
heard some one coming in, and the next minute in walked Miss Tertia
and her sister. The strange young lady didn’t know where to hide, and
managed to lose her shoes; but the other two began to revile her,
saying, “Out upon you, base fox; what are you doing here?” They then
chased her away after some trouble, and Shang began to excuse himself
to them, until at last they all became friends again as before.
One day, however, a Shensi man arrived, riding on a donkey, and coming
to the door said, “I have long been in search of these evil spirits:
now I have got them.” Shang’s father thought the man’s remark rather
strange, and asked him whence he had come. “Across much land and sea,”
replied he; “for eight or nine months out of every year I am absent
from my native place. These devils killed my brother with their
poison, alas! alas! and I have sworn to exterminate them; but I have
travelled many miles without being able to find them. They are now in
your house, and if you do not cut them off, you will die even as my
brother.” Now Shang and the young ladies had kept their
acquaintanceship very dark; but his father and mother had guessed that
something was up, and, much alarmed, bade the Shensi man walk in and
perform his exorcisms. The latter then produced two bottles which he
placed upon the ground, and proceeded to mutter a number of charms and
cabalistic formulæ; whereupon four wreaths of smoke passed two by two
into each bottle. “I have the whole family,” cried he, in an ecstasy
of delight; as he proceeded to tie down the mouths of the bottles with
pig’s bladder, sealing them with the utmost care. Shang’s father was
likewise very pleased, and kept his guest to dinner; but the young man
himself was sadly dejected, and approaching the bottles unperceived,
bent his ear to listen. “Ungrateful man,” said Miss Quarta from
within, “to sit there and make no effort to save me.” This was more
than Shang could stand, and he immediately broke the seal, but found
that he couldn’t untie the knot. “Not so,” cried Miss Quarta; “merely
lay down the flag that now stands on the altar, and with a pin prick
the bladder, and I can get out.” Shang did as she bade him, and in a
moment a thin streak of white smoke issued forth from the hole and
disappeared in the clouds. When the Shensi man came out, and saw the
flag lying on the ground, he started violently, and cried out,
“Escaped! This must be your doing, young Sir.” He then shook the
bottle and listened, finally exclaiming, “Luckily only one has got
away. She was fated not to die, and may therefore be pardoned.”[138]
Thereupon he took the bottles and went his way.
Some years afterwards Shang was one day superintending his reapers
cutting the corn, when he descried Miss Quarta at a distance, sitting
under a tree. He approached, and she took his hand, saying, “Ten years
have rolled away since last we met. Since then I have gained the
prize of immortality;[139] but I thought that perhaps you had not
quite forgotten me, and so I came to see you once more.” Shang wished
her to return home with him; to which she replied, “I am no longer
what I was that I should mingle in the affairs of mortals. We shall
meet again.” And as she said this, she disappeared; but twenty years
later, when Shang was one day alone, Miss Quarta walked in. Shang was
overjoyed, and began to address her; but she answered him, saying, “My
name is already enrolled in the Register of the Immortals, and I have
no right to return to earth. However, out of gratitude to you I
determined to announce to you the date of your dissolution that you
might put your affairs in order. Fear nothing; I will see you safely
through to the happy land.” She then departed, and on the day named
Shang actually died. A relative of a friend of mine, Mr. Li Wên-yü,
frequently met the above-mentioned Mr. Shang.[140]
FOOTNOTES:
[135] The Milky Way is known to the Chinese under this
name--unquestionably a more poetical one than our own.
[136] See No. XIII., note 90.
[137] That is, of the Taoists. See No. IV., note 46.
[138] Predestination _after the event_ is, luckily for China, the form
of this superstition which really appeals to her all-practical
children. Not a larger percentage than with ourselves allow belief in
an irremediable destiny to divert their efforts one moment from the
object in view; though thousands upon thousands are ready enough to
acknowledge the “will of heaven” in any national or individual
calamities that may befall. See No. IX., note 69.
[139] Any disembodied spirit whose conduct for a certain term of years
is quite satisfactory is competent to obtain this reward. Thus,
instead of being born again on earth, perhaps as an animal, they
become angels or good spirits, and live for ever in heaven in a state
of supreme beatitude.
[140] Our author occasionally ends up with a remark of this kind; and
these have undoubtedly had their weight with his too credulous
countrymen.
XX.
MR. CHU, THE CONSIDERATE HUSBAND.