great lassitude, which he tried at first to shake off, but by-and-by
he became very thin, and could only take thick gruel. He then thought
about going back to his native place; however, he could not bear to
leave Miss Li, and in a few more days he was so weak that he was
unable to get up. His friend next door, seeing how ill he was, daily
sent in his boy with food and drink; and now Sang began for the first
time to suspect Miss Li. So he said to her, “I am sorry I didn’t
listen to Lien-hsiang before I got as bad as this.” He then closed his
eyes and kept them shut for some time; and when he opened them again
Miss Li had disappeared. Their acquaintanceship was thus at an end,
and Sang lay all emaciated as he was upon his bed in his solitary room
longing for the return of Lien-hsiang. One day, while he was still
thinking about her, some one drew aside the screen and walked in. It
was Lien-hsiang; and approaching the bed she said with a smile, “Was I
then talking such nonsense?” Sang struggled a long time to speak; and,
at length, confessing he had been wrong, implored her to save him.
“When the disease has reached such a pitch as this,” replied
Lien-hsiang, “there is very little to be done. I merely came to bid
you farewell, and to clear up your doubts about my jealousy.” In great
tribulation, Sang asked her to take something she would find under
his pillow and destroy it; and she accordingly drew forth the slipper,
which she proceeded to examine by the light of the lamp, turning it
over and over. All at once Miss Li walked in, but when she saw
Lien-hsiang she turned back as though she would run away, which
Lien-hsiang instantly prevented by placing herself in the doorway.
Sang then began to reproach her, and Miss Li could make no reply;
whereupon Lien-hsiang said, “At last we meet. Formerly you attributed
this gentleman’s illness to me; what have you to say now?” Miss Li
bent her head in acknowledgment of her guilt, and Lien-hsiang
continued, “How is it that a nice girl like you can thus turn love
into hate?” Here Miss Li threw herself on the ground in a flood of
tears and begged for mercy; and Lien-hsiang, raising her up, inquired
of her as to her past life. “I am a daughter of a petty official named
Li, and I died young, leaving the web of my destiny incomplete, like
the silkworm that perishes in the spring. To be the partner of this
gentleman was my ardent wish; but I had never any intention of causing
his death.” “I have heard,” remarked Lien-hsiang, “that the advantage
devils obtain by killing people is that their victims are ever with
them after death. Is this so?” “It is not,” replied Miss Li; “the
companionship of two devils gives no pleasure to either. Were it
otherwise, I should not have wanted for friends in the realms below.
But tell me, how do foxes manage not to kill people?” “You allude to
such foxes as suck the breath out of people?” replied Lien-hsiang; “I
am not of that class. Some foxes are harmless; no devils are,[149]
because of the dominance of the _yin_[150] in their compositions.”
Sang now knew that these two girls were really a fox and a devil;
however, from being long accustomed to their society, he was not in
the least alarmed. His breathing had dwindled to a mere thread, and at
length he uttered a cry of pain. Lien-hsiang looked round and said,
“How shall we cure him?” upon which Miss Li blushed deeply and drew
back; and then Lien-hsiang added, “If he does get well, I’m afraid you
will be dreadfully jealous.” Miss Li drew herself up, and replied,
“Could a physician be found to wipe away the wrong I have done to this
gentleman, I would bury my head in the ground. How should I look the
world in the face?” Lien-hsiang here opened a bag and drew forth some
drugs, saying, “I have been looking forward to this day. When I left
this gentleman I proceeded to gather my simples, as it would take
three months for the medicine to be got ready; but then, should the
poison have brought anyone even to death’s door, this medicine is able
to call him back. The only condition is that it be administered by the
very hand which wrought the ill.” Miss Li did as she was told and put
the pills Lien-hsiang gave her one after another into Sang’s mouth.
They burnt his inside like fire; but soon vitality began to return,
and Lien-hsiang cried out, “He is cured!” Just at this moment Miss Li
heard the cock crow and vanished,[151] Lien-hsiang remaining behind in
attendance on the invalid, who was unable to feed himself. She bolted
the outside door and pretended that Sang had returned to his native
place, so as to prevent visitors from calling. Day and night she took
care of him, and every evening Miss Li came in to render assistance,
regarding Lien-hsiang as an elder sister, and being treated by her
with great consideration and kindness. Three months afterwards Sang
was as strong and well as ever he had been, and then for several
evenings Miss Li ceased to visit them, only staying a few moments when
she did come, and seeming very uneasy in her mind. One evening Sang
ran after her and carried her back in his arms, finding her no heavier
than so much straw; and then, being obliged to stay, she curled
herself up and lay down, to all appearance in a state of
unconsciousness, and by-and-by she was gone. For many days they heard
nothing of her, and Sang was so anxious that she should come back that
he often took out her slipper and shook it. “I don’t wonder at your
missing her,” said Lien-hsiang, “I do myself very much indeed.”
“Formerly,” observed Sang, “when I shook the slipper she invariably
came. I thought it very strange, but I never suspected her of being a
devil. And now, alas! all I can do is to sit and think about her with
this slipper in my hand.” He then burst into a flood of tears.
Now a young lady named Yen-êrh, belonging to the wealthy Chang family,
and about fifteen years of age, had died suddenly, without any
apparent cause, and had come to life again in the night, when she got
up and wished to go out. They barred the door and would not hear of
her doing so; upon which she said, “I am the spirit daughter of a
petty magistrate. A Mr. Sang has been very kind to me, and I have left
my slipper at his house. I am really a spirit; what is the use of
keeping me in?” There being some reason for what she said, they asked
her why she had come there; but she only looked up and down without
being able to give any explanation. Some one here observed, that Mr.
Sang had already gone home, but the young lady utterly refused to
believe them. The family was much disturbed at all this; and when
Sang’s neighbour heard the story, he jumped over the wall, and peeping
through beheld Sang sitting there chatting with a pretty-looking girl.
As he went in, there was some commotion, during which Sang’s visitor
had disappeared, and when his neighbour asked the meaning of it all,
Sang replied, laughing, “Why, I told you if any ladies came I should
ask them in.” His friend then repeated what Miss Yen-êrh had said; and
Sang, unbolting his door, was about to go and have a peep at her, but
unfortunately had no means of so doing. Meanwhile Mrs. Chang, hearing
that he had not gone away, was more lost in astonishment than ever,
and sent an old woman-servant to get back the slipper. Sang
immediately gave it to her, and Miss Yen-êrh was delighted to recover
it, though when she came to try it on it was too small for her by a
good inch. In considerable alarm, she seized a mirror to look at
herself; and suddenly became aware that she had come to life again in
some one else’s body. She therefore told all to her mother, and
finally succeeded in convincing her, crying all the time because she
was so changed for the worse as regarded personal appearance from what
she had been before. And whenever she happened to see Lien-hsiang, she
was very much disconcerted, declaring that she had been much better
off as a devil than now as a human being. She would sit and weep over
the slipper, no one being able to comfort her; and finally, covering
herself up with bed-clothes, she lay all stark and stiff, positively
refusing to take any nourishment. Her body swelled up, and for seven
days she refused all food, but did not die; and then the swelling
began to subside, and an intense hunger to come upon her which made
her once more think about eating. Then she was troubled with a severe
irritation, and her skin peeled entirely away; and when she got up in
the morning, she found that the shoes had fallen off. On trying to put
them on again, she discovered that they did not fit her any longer;
and then she went back to her former pair which were now exactly of
the right size and shape. In an ecstasy of joy, she grasped her
mirror, and saw that her features had also changed back to what they
had formerly been; so she washed and dressed herself and went in to
visit her mother. Every one who met her was much astonished; and when
Lien-hsiang heard the strange story, she tried to persuade Mr. Sang to
make her an offer of marriage. But the young lady was rich and Sang
was poor, and he did not see his way clearly. However, on Mrs. Chang’s
birthday, when she completed her cycle of sixty-one years,[152] Sang
went along with the others to wish her many happy returns of the day;
and when the old lady knew who was coming, she bade Yen-êrh take a
peep at him from behind the curtain. Sang arrived last of all; and
immediately out rushed Miss Yen-êrh and seized his sleeve, and said
she would go back with him. Her mother scolded her well for this, and
she ran in abashed; but Sang, who had looked at her closely, began to
weep, and threw himself at the feet of Mrs. Chang who raised him up
without saying anything unkind. Sang then took his leave, and got his
uncle to act as medium between them; the result being that an
auspicious day was fixed upon for the wedding. At the appointed time
Sang proceeded to the house to fetch her; and when he returned he
found that, instead of his former poor-looking furniture, beautiful
carpets were laid down from the very door, and thousands of coloured
lanterns were hung about in elegant designs. Lien-hsiang assisted the
bride to enter, and took off her veil, finding her the same bright
girl as ever. She also joined them while drinking the wedding
cup,[153] and inquired of her friend as to her recent transmigration;
and Yen-êrh related as follows:--“Overwhelmed with grief, I began to
shrink from myself as some unclean thing; and, after separating from
you that day, I would not return any more to my grave. So I wandered
about at random, and whenever I saw a living being, I envied its happy
state. By day I remained among trees and shrubs, but at night I used
to roam about anywhere. And once I came to the house of the Chang
family, where, seeing a young girl lying upon the bed, I took
possession of her mortal coil, unknowing that she would be restored to
life again.” When Lien-hsiang heard this she was for some time lost in
thought; and a month or two afterwards became very ill. She refused
all medical aid and gradually got worse and worse, to the great grief
of Mr. Sang and his wife, who stood weeping at her bedside. Suddenly
she opened her eyes, and said, “You wish to live; I am willing to die.
If fate so ordains it, we shall meet again ten years hence.” As she
uttered these words, her spirit passed away, and all that remained was
the dead body of a fox. Sang, however, insisted on burying it with all
the proper ceremonies.
Now his wife had no children; but one day a servant came in and said,
“There is an old woman outside who has got a little girl for sale.”
Sang’s wife gave orders that she should be shown in; and no sooner had
she set eyes on the girl than she cried out, “Why, she’s the image of
Lien-hsiang!” Sang then looked at her, and found to his astonishment
that she was really very like his old friend. The old woman said she
was fourteen years old; and when asked what her price was, declared
that her only wish was to get the girl comfortably settled, and
enough to keep herself alive, and ensure not being thrown out into the
kennel at death. So Sang gave a good price for her;[154] and his wife,
taking the girl’s hand, led her into a room by themselves. Then,
chucking her under the chin, she asked her, smiling, “Do you know me?”
The girl said she did not; after which she told Mrs. Sang that her
name was Wei, and that her father, who had been a pickle-merchant at
Hsü-ch‘êng, had died three years before. Mrs. Sang then calculated
that Lien-hsiang had been dead just ten years; and, looking at the
girl, who resembled her so exactly in every trait, at length patted
her on the head, saying, “Ah, my sister, you promised to visit us
again in ten years, and you have not played us false.” The girl here
seemed to wake up as if from a dream, and, uttering an exclamation of
surprise, fixed a steady gaze upon Sang’s wife. Sang himself laughed,
and said, “Just like the return of an old familiar swallow.” “Now I
understand,” cried the girl, in tears; “I recollect my mother saying
that when I was born I was able to speak; and that, thinking it an
inauspicious manifestation, they gave me dog’s blood to drink, so that
I should forget all about my previous state of existence.[155] Is it
all a dream, or are you not the Miss Li who was so ashamed of being a
devil?” Thus they chatted of their existence in a former life, with
alternate tears and smiles; but when it came to the day for
worshipping at the tombs, Yen-êrh explained that she and her husband
were in the habit of annually visiting and mourning over her grave.
The girl replied that she would accompany them; and when they got
there they found the whole place in disorder, and the coffin wood all
warped. “Lien-hsiang and I,” said Yen-êrh to her husband, “have been
attached to each other in two states of existence. Let us not be
separated, but bury my bones here with hers.” Sang consented, and
opening Miss Li’s tomb, took out the bones and buried them with those
of Lien-hsiang, while friends and relatives, who had heard the strange
story, gathered round the grave in gala dress to the number of many
hundreds.
I learnt the above when travelling through I-chou, where I was
detained at an inn by rain, and read a biography of Mr. Sang written
by a comrade of his named Wang Tzŭ-chang. It was lent me by a Mr. Liu
Tzŭ-ching, a relative of Sang’s, and was quite a long account. This is
merely an outline of it.
FOOTNOTES:
[145] The term constantly employed by Confucius to denote the man of
perfect probity, learning, and refinement. The nearest, if not an
exact, translation would be “gentleman.”
[146] Literally, “a young lady whose beauty would overthrow a
kingdom,” in allusion to an old story which it is not necessary to
reproduce here.
[147] The Lady of the Moon. See No. V., note 49.
[148] See No. VIII., note 64.
[149] Miss Lien-hsiang was here speaking without book, as will be seen
in a story later on.
[150] The female principle. In a properly-constituted human being the
male and female principles are harmoniously combined. Nothing short of
a small volume would place this subject, the basis of Chinese
metaphysics, in a clear light before the uninitiated reader. Broadly
speaking, the _yin_ and the _yang_ are the two primeval forces from
the interaction of which all things have been evolved.
[151]
“_Ber._--It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
_Hor._--And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the God of Day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine.”
_Hamlet._
[152] “From time immemorial, the Chinese have employed a combination
of two sets of characters, numbering ten and twelve respectively, to
form a cycle of sixty terms for the purpose of chronological notation.
The period at which this cycle was invented is a subject upon which
complete uncertainty prevails, but there is little doubt that it first
came into use as a method of reckoning years after the reform of the
calendar in B.C. 104.”--Mayers’ _Reader’s Manual_.
The birthday on which any person completes his cycle is considered a
very auspicious occasion. The second emperor of the present dynasty,
K‘ang Hsi, completed a cycle in his _reign_, with one year to spare;
and his grandson, Ch‘ien Lung (or Kien Lung) fell short of this only
by a single year, dying in the same cyclical period as that in which
he had ascended the throne.
[153] Bride and bridegroom drink wine together out of two cups joined
by a red string, typical of that imaginary bond which is believed to
unite the destinies of husband and wife long before they have set eyes
on each other. Popular tradition assigns to an old man who lives in
the moon the arrangement of all matches among mortals; hence the
common Chinese expression, “Marriages are made in the moon.”
[154] The bill of sale always handed to the purchaser of a child in
China, as a proof that the child is his _bonâ fide_ property and has
not been kidnapped, is by a pleasant fiction called a “deed of gift,”
the amount paid over to the seller being therein denominated “ginger
and vinegar money,” or compensation for the expense of rearing and
educating up to the date of sale. This phrase originates from the fact
that a dose of ginger and vinegar is administered to every Chinese
woman immediately after the delivery of her child.
We may here add that the value of male children to those who have no
heirs, and of female children to those who want servants, has fostered
a regular kidnapping trade, which is carried on with great activity in
some parts of China, albeit the penalty on discovery is instant
decapitation. Some years ago I was present in the streets of Tientsin
when a kidnapper was seized by the infuriated mob, and within two
hours I heard that the man had been summarily executed.
[155] The power of recalling events which have occurred in a previous
life will be enlarged upon in several stories to come.
XXIV.
MISS A-PAO; OR, PERSEVERANCE REWARDED.
In the province of Kuang-si there lived a scholar of some reputation,
named Sun Tzŭ-ch‘u. He was born with six fingers, and such a simple
fellow was he that he readily believed any nonsense he was told. Very
shy with the fair sex, the sight of a woman was enough to send him
flying in the opposite direction; and once when he was inveigled into
a room where there were some young ladies, he blushed down to his neck
and the perspiration dripped off him like falling pearls. His
companions laughed heartily at his discomfiture, and told fine stories
of what a noodle he looked, so that he got the nickname of Silly Sun.
In the town where our hero resided, there was a rich trader whose
wealth equalled that of any prince or nobleman, and whose connections
were all highly aristocratic.[156] He had a daughter, A-pao, of great
beauty, for whom he was seeking a husband; and the young men of
position in the neighbourhood were vying with each other to obtain her
hand, but none of them met with the father’s approval. Now Silly Sun
had recently lost his wife; and some one in joke persuaded him to try
his luck and send in an application. Sun, who had no idea of his own
shortcomings, proceeded at once to follow this advice; but the father,
though he knew him to be an accomplished scholar, rejected his suit on
the ground of poverty. As the go-between[157] was leaving the house,
she chanced to meet A-pao, and related to her the object of her visit.
“Tell him,” cried A-pao, laughing, “that if he’ll cut off his extra
finger, I’ll marry him.” The old woman reported this to Sun, who
replied, “That is not very difficult;” and, seizing a chopper, cut the
finger clean off. The wound was extremely painful and he lost so much
blood that he nearly died, it being many days before he was about
again. He then sought out the go-between, and bade her inform Miss
A-pao, which she did; and A-pao was taken rather aback, but she told
the old woman to go once more and bid him cut off the “silly” from
his reputation. Sun got much excited when he heard this, and denied
that he was silly; however, as he was unable to prove it to the young
lady herself, he began to think that probably her beauty was
over-stated, and that she was giving herself great airs. So he ceased
to trouble himself about her until the following spring festival,[158]
when it was customary for both men and women to be seen abroad, and
the young rips of the place would stroll about in groups and pass
their remarks on all and sundry. Sun’s friends urged him to join them
in their expedition, and one of them asked him with a smile if he did
not wish to look out for a suitable mate. Sun knew they were chaffing
him, but he thought he should like to see the girl that had made such
a fool of him, and was only too pleased to accompany them. They soon
perceived a young lady resting herself under a tree, with a throng of
young fellows crowding round her, and they immediately determined that
she must be A-pao, as in fact they found she was. Possessed of
peerless beauty, the ring of her admirers gradually increased, till at
last she rose up to go. The excitement among the young men was
intense; they criticised her face and discussed her feet,[159] Sun
only remaining silent; and when they had passed on to something else,
there they saw Sun rooted like an imbecile to the same spot. As he
made no answer when spoken to, they dragged him along with them,
saying, “Has your spirit run away after A-pao?” He made no reply to
this either; but they thought nothing of that, knowing his usual
strangeness of manner, so by dint of pushing and pulling they managed
to get him home. There he threw himself on the bed and did not get up
again for the rest of the day, lying in a state of unconsciousness
just as if he were drunk. He did not wake when called; and his people,
thinking that his spirit had fled, went about in the fields calling
out to it to return.[160] However, he shewed no signs of improvement;
and when they shook him, and asked him what was the matter, he only
answered in a sleepy kind of voice, “I am at A-pao’s house;” but to
further questions he would not make any reply, and left his family in
a state of keen suspense.
Now when Silly Sun had seen the young lady get up to go, he could not
bear to part with her, and found himself first following and then
walking along by her side without anyone saying anything to him. Thus
he went back with her to her home, and there he remained for three
days, longing to run home and get something to eat, but unfortunately
not knowing the way. By that time Sun had hardly a breath left in
him; and his friends, fearing that he was going to die, sent to beg of
the rich trader that he would allow a search to be made for Sun’s
spirit in his house. The trader laughed and said, “He wasn’t in the
habit of coming here, so he could hardly have left his spirit behind
him;” but he yielded to the entreaties of Sun’s family, and permitted
the search to be made. Thereupon a magician proceeded to the house,
taking with him an old suit of Sun’s clothes and some grass matting;
and when Miss A-pao heard the reason for which he had come, she
simplified matters very much by leading the magician straight to her
own room. The magician summoned the spirit in due form, and went back
towards Sun’s house. By the time he had reached the door, Sun groaned
and recovered consciousness; and he was then able to describe all the
articles of toilette and furniture in A-pao’s room without making a
single mistake. A-pao was amazed when the story was repeated to her,
and could not help feeling kindly towards him on account of the depth
of his passion. Sun himself, when he got well enough to leave his bed,
would often sit in a state of abstraction as if he had lost his wits;
and he was for ever scheming to try and have another glimpse at A-pao.