on the 8th of the fourth moon, that day being the Wash-Buddha
festival; and he set off early in the morning to wait for her at the
roadside. He was nearly blind with straining his eyes, and the sun was
already past noontide before the young lady arrived; but when she saw
from her carriage a gentleman standing there, she drew aside the
screen and had a good stare at him. Sun followed her in a great state
of excitement, upon which she bade one of her maids to go and ask his
name. Sun told her who he was, his perturbation all the time
increasing; and when the carriage drove on he returned home. Again he
became very ill, and lay on his bed unconscious, without taking any
food, occasionally calling on A-pao by name, at the same time abusing
his spirit for not having been able to follow her as before. Just at
this juncture a parrot that had been long with the family died; and a
child, playing with the body, laid it upon the bed. Sun then reflected
that if he was only a parrot one flap of his wings would bring him
into the presence of A-pao; and while occupied with these thoughts,
lo! the dead body moved and the parrot flew away. It flew straight to
A-pao’s room, at which she was delighted; and catching it, tied a
string to its leg, and fed it upon hemp-seed. “Dear sister,” cried the
bird, “do not tie me by the leg: I am Sun Tzŭ-ch‘u.” In great alarm
A-pao untied the string, but the parrot did not fly away. “Alas!” said
she, “your love has engraved itself upon my heart; but now you are no
longer a man, how shall we ever be united together?” “To be near your
dear self,” replied the parrot, “is all I care about.” The parrot then
refused to take food from anyone else, and kept close to Miss A-pao
wherever she went, day and night alike. At the expiration of three
days, A-pao, who had grown very fond of her parrot, secretly sent some
one to ask how Mr. Sun was; but he had already been dead three days,
though the part over his heart had not grown cold. “Oh! come to life
again as a man,” cried the young lady, “and I swear to be yours for
ever.” “You are surely not in earnest,” said the parrot, “are you?”
Miss A-pao declared she was, and the parrot, cocking its head aside,
remained some time as if absorbed in thought. By-and-by A-pao took off
her shoes to bind her feet a little tighter;[161] and the parrot,
making a rapid grab at one, flew off with it in its beak. She called
loudly after it to come back, but in a moment it was out of sight; so
she next sent a servant to inquire if there was any news of Mr. Sun,
and then learnt that he had come round again, the parrot having flown
in with an embroidered shoe and dropped down dead on the ground. Also,
that directly he regained consciousness he asked for the shoe, of
which his people knew nothing; at which moment her servant had
arrived, and demanded to know from him where it was. “It was given to
me by Miss A-pao as a pledge of faith,” replied Sun; “I beg you will
tell her I have not forgotten her promise.” A-pao was greatly
astonished at this, and instructed her maid to divulge the whole
affair to her mother, who, when she had made some inquiries, observed
that Sun was well known as a clever fellow, but was desperately poor,
and “to get such a son-in-law after all our trouble would give our
aristocratic friends the laugh against us.”[162] However, A-pao
pleaded that with the shoe there as a proof against her, she would not
marry anybody else; and, ultimately, her father and mother gave their
consent. This was immediately announced to Mr. Sun, whose illness
rapidly disappeared in consequence. A-pao’s father would have had Sun
come and live with them;[163] but the young lady objected, on the
score that a son-in-law should not remain long at a time with the
family of his wife,[164] and that as he was poor he would lower
himself still more by doing so. “I have accepted him,” added she, “and
I shall gladly reside in his humble cottage, and share his poor fare
without complaint.” The marriage was then celebrated, and bride and
bridegroom met as if for the first time in their lives.[165] The dowry
A-pao brought with her somewhat raised their pecuniary position, and
gave them a certain amount of comfort; but Sun himself stuck only to
his books, and knew nothing about managing affairs in general. Luckily
his wife was clever in that respect, and did not bother him with such
things; so much so that by the end of three years they were
comparatively well off, when Sun suddenly fell ill and died. Mrs. Sun
was inconsolable, and refused either to sleep or take nourishment,
being deaf to all entreaties on the subject; and before long, taking
advantage of the night, she hanged herself.[166] Her maid, hearing a
noise, ran in and cut her down just in time: but she still steadily
refused all food. Three days passed away, and the friends and
relatives of Sun came to attend his funeral, when suddenly they heard
a sigh proceeding forth from the coffin. The coffin was then opened
and they found that Sun had come to life again. He told them that he
had been before the Great Judge, who, as a reward for his upright and
honourable life, had conferred upon him an official appointment. “At
this moment,” said Sun, “it was reported that my wife was close at
hand,[167] but the Judge, referring to the register, observed that her
time had not yet come. They told him she had taken no food for three
days; and then the Judge, looking at me, said that as a recompense for
her wifely virtues she should be permitted to return to life.
Thereupon he gave orders to his attendants to put to the horses and
see us safely back.” From that hour Sun gradually improved, and the
next year went up for his master’s degree. All his old companions
chaffed him exceedingly before the examination, and gave him seven
themes on out-of-the-way subjects, telling him privately that they had
been surreptitiously obtained from the examiners. Sun believed them as
usual, and worked at them day and night until he was perfect, his
comrades all the time enjoying a good laugh against him. However, when
the day came it was found that the examiners, fearing lest the themes
they had chosen in an ordinary way should have been dishonestly made
public,[168] took a set of fresh ones quite out of the common run--in
fact, on the very subjects Sun’s companions had given to him.
Consequently, he came out at the head of the list; and the next year,
after taking his doctor’s degree, he was entered among the Han-lin
Academicians.[169] The Emperor, too, happening to hear of his curious
adventures, sent for him and made him repeat his story; subsequently,
summoning A-pao and making her some very costly presents.
FOOTNOTES:
[156] There is nothing in China like an aristocracy of birth. Any man
may raise himself from the lowest level to the highest; and as long as
he and his family keep themselves there, they may be considered
aristocratic. Wealth has nothing to do with the question; official
rank and literary tastes, separate or combined, these constitute a
man’s title to the esteem of his fellows. Trade is looked upon as
ignoble and debasing; and friendly intercourse between merchants and
officials, the two great social divisions, is so rare as to be almost
unknown.
[157] The medium, without whose good offices no marriage can be
arranged. Generally, but not always, a woman.
This system of go-betweens is not confined to matrimonial engagements.
No servant ever offers himself for a place; he invariably employs some
one to introduce him. So also in mercantile transactions the broker
almost invariably appears upon the scene.
[158] See No. II., note 41.
[159] The so-called “golden lilies” always come in for a large share
of criticism. See No. XII., note 86. This term originated with an
emperor who reigned in the fifth century, when, in ecstasies at the
graceful dancing of a concubine upon a stage ornamented with lilies,
he cried out, “Every footstep makes a lily grow.”
[160] A common custom; _e.g._ in the case of a little child lying
dangerously ill, its mother will go outside the door into the garden
or field, and call out its name several times, in the hope of bringing
back the wandering spirit.
[161] This process must be regularly gone through night and morning,
otherwise the bandages become loose, and the gait of the walker
unsteady.
[162] I have explained before that any great disparity of means is
considered an obstacle to a matrimonial alliance between two families.
[163] This is a not unusual arrangement in cases where there are other
sons in the bridegroom’s family, but none in that of the bride’s,
especially if the advantage of wealth is on the side of the latter.
[164] Such is the Chinese rule, adopted simply with a view to the
preservation of harmony.
[165] They are supposed never to see each other before the
wedding-day; but, after careful investigation of the subject, I have
come to the conclusion that certainly in seven cases out of ten, the
intended bridegroom secretly procures a sight of his future wife. I am
now speaking of the higher classes; among the poor, both sexes mix
almost as freely as with us.
[166] This would still be considered a creditable act on the part of a
Chinese widow. It is, however, of exceedingly rare occurrence.
[167] Being nearly dead from hanging.
[168] This is occasionally done, great influence or a heavy bribe
being brought to bear upon the Examiners, of whom there are only
two for the Master’s degree, and the second of these, or
Assistant-Examiner, holds but a subordinate position. See _Appendix_
A, and No. LXXV., note 426.
[169] Admission to the Han-lin, or Chinese National Academy, is the
highest honour obtainable by a scholar. Its members are employed in
drawing up Government documents, histories, etc.
XXV.
JEN HSIU.
Jen Chien-chih was a native of Yü-t‘ai, and a dealer in rugs and furs.
One day he set off for Shensi, taking with him every penny he could
scrape together; and on the road he met a man who told him that his
name was Shên Chu-t‘ing, and his native place Su-ch‘ien. These two
soon became firm friends, and entered into a masonic bond[170] with
each other, journeying on together by the same stages until they
reached their destination. By-and-by Mr. Jen fell sick, and his
companion had to nurse him, which he did with the utmost attention,
but for ten days he gradually got worse and worse, and at length said
to Shên, “My family is very poor. Eight mouths depend upon my
exertions for food; and now, alas! I am about to die, far from my own
home. You and I are brothers. At this distance there is no one else to
whom I can look. Now in my purse you will find two hundred ounces of
silver. Take half, and when you have defrayed my funeral expenses, use
the balance for your return journey; and give the other half to my
family, that they may be able to send for my coffin.[171] If, however,
you will take my mortal remains with you home to my native place,
these expenses need not be incurred.” He then, with the aid of a
pillow, wrote a letter, which he handed to Shên, and that evening he
died. Thereupon Shên purchased a cheap coffin[172] for some five or
six ounces of silver; and, as the landlord kept urging him to take
away the body, he said he would go out and seek for a temple where it
might be temporarily deposited. But he ran away and never went back
to the inn; and it was more than a year before Jen’s family knew what
had taken place. His son was just about seventeen years of age, and
had recently been reading with a tutor; but now his books were laid
aside, and he proposed to go in search of his father’s body. His
mother said he was too young; and it was only when he declared he
would rather not live than stay at home, that with the aid of the
pawn-shop[173] enough money was raised to start him on his way. An old
servant accompanied him, and it was six months before they returned
and performed the last ceremonies over Jen’s remains. The family was
thus reduced to absolute destitution; but happily young Hsiu was a
clever fellow, and when the days of mourning[174] were over, took his
bachelor’s degree. On the other hand, he was somewhat wild and very
fond of gambling; and although his mother strictly prohibited such
diversions, all her prohibitions were in vain. By-and-by the Grand
Examiner arrived, and Hsiu came out in the fourth class. His mother
was extremely angry, and refused to take food, which brought young
Hsiu to his senses, and he promised her faithfully he would never
gamble again. From that day he shut himself up, and the following year
took a first class degree, coming out among the “senior”
graduates.[175] His mother now advised him to take pupils, but his
reputation as a disorderly fellow stuck to him, and no one would
entrust their sons to his care.
Just then an uncle of his, named Chang, was about to start with
merchandise for the capital, and recommended that Hsiu should go along
with him, promising himself to pay all expenses, an offer which Hsiu
was only too pleased to accept. When they reached Lin-ch‘ing, they
anchored outside the Custom House, where they found a great number of
salt-junks, in fact a perfect forest of masts; and what with the noise
of the water and the people it was quite impossible to sleep.
Besides, as the row was beginning to subside, the clear rattle of dice
from a neighbouring boat fell upon Hsiu’s ear, and before long he was
itching to be back again at his old games. Listening to hear if all
around him were sound asleep, he drew forth a string of cash that he
had brought with him, and thought he would just go across and try his
luck. So he got up quietly with his money, and was on the point of
going, when he suddenly recollected his mother’s injunctions, and at
once tying his purse-strings laid himself down to sleep. He was far
too excited, however, to close his eyes; and after a while got up
again and re-opened his purse. This he did three times, until at last
it was too much for him, and off he went with his money. Crossing over
into the boat whence the sounds proceeded, he beheld two persons
engaged in gambling for high stakes; so throwing his money on the
table, he begged to be allowed to join. The others readily consented,
and they began to play, Hsiu winning so rapidly that soon one of the
strangers had no money left, and was obliged to get the proprietor of
the boat to change a large piece of silver for him, proceeding to lay
down as much as several ounces of silver for a single stake.
As the play was in full swing another man walked in, who after
watching for some time at length got the proprietor to change another
lump of silver for him of one hundred ounces in weight, and also asked
to be allowed to join. Now Hsiu’s uncle, waking up in the middle of
the night, and finding his nephew gone, and hearing the sound of
dice-throwing hard by, knew at once where he was, and immediately
followed him to the boat with a view of bringing him back. Finding,
however, that Hsiu was a heavy winner, he said nothing to him, only
carrying off a portion of his winnings to their own boat and making
the others of his party get up and help him to fetch the rest, even
then leaving behind a large sum for Hsiu to go on with. By-and-by the
three strangers had lost all their ready money, and there wasn’t a
farthing left in the boat: upon which one of them proposed to play for
lumps of silver, but Hsiu said he never went so high as that. This
made them a little quarrelsome, Hsiu’s uncle all the time trying to
get him away; and the proprietor of the boat, who had only his own
commission in view, managed to borrow some hundred strings of cash
from another boat, and started them all again. Hsiu soon took this out
of them; and, as day was beginning to dawn and the Custom House was
about to open, he went off with his winnings back to his own boat.
The proprietor of the gambling-boat now found that the lumps of silver
which he had changed for his customers were nothing more than so much
tinsel, and rushing off in a great state of alarm to Hsiu’s boat, told
him what had happened and asked him to make it good; but when he
discovered he was speaking to the son of his former travelling
companion, Jen Chien-chih, he hung his head and slunk away covered
with shame. For the proprietor of that boat was no other than Shên
Chu-t‘ing, of whom Hsiu had heard when he was in Shensi; now,
however, that with supernatural aid[176] the wrongs of his father had
been avenged, he determined to pursue the man no further. So going
into partnership with his uncle, they proceeded north together; and by
the end of the year their capital had increased five-fold. Hsiu then
purchased the status of _chien-shêng_,[177] and by further careful
investment of his money ultimately became the richest man in that part
of the country.
FOOTNOTES:
[170] Besides the numerous secret societies so much dreaded by the
Government, membership of which is punishable by death, very intimate
friends are in the habit of adopting each other as sworn brothers,
bound to stand by one another in cases of danger and difficulty, to
the last drop of blood. The bond is cemented by an oath, accompanied
by such ceremonies as fancy may at the moment dictate. The most
curious of all, however, are the so-called “Golden Orchid” societies,
the members of which are young girls, who have sworn never to enter
into the matrimonial state. To such an extent have these sisterhoods
spread in the Kuang-tung Province, that the authorities have been
compelled to prohibit them under severe penalties.
[171] A Chinaman loves to be buried alongside of his ancestors, and
poor families are often put to great straits to pay this last tribute
of respect and affection to the deceased. At all large cities are to
be found temporary burial grounds, where the bodies of strangers are
deposited until their relatives can come to carry them away. Large
freights of dead bodies are annually brought back to China from
California, Queensland, and other parts to which the Chinese are in
the habit of emigrating, to the great profit of the steamer-companies
concerned. Coffins are also used as a means of smuggling, respect for
the dead being so great that they are only opened under the very
strongest suspicion.
[172] See No. XIV., note 104. The price of an elaborate Chinese coffin
goes as high as £100 or £150.
[173] The never-failing resource of an impecunious Chinaman who has
any property whatever bearing an exchange value. The pawn-shop proper
is a licensed institution, where three per cent. _per month_ is
charged on all loans, all pledges being redeemable within sixteen
months. It is generally a very high brick structure, towering far
above the surrounding houses, with the deposits neatly packed up in
paper and arranged on the shelves of a huge wooden skeleton-like
frame, that completely fills the interior of the building, on the top
of which are ranged buckets of water in case of fire, and a quantity
of huge stones to throw down on any thieves who may be daring enough
to attempt to scale the wall. [In Peking, houses are not allowed to be
built above a certain height, as during the long summer months ladies
are in the habit of sitting to spin or sew in their courtyards, very
lightly clad.] Pawning goods in China is not held to be so disgraceful
as with us; in fact, most people, at the beginning of the hot weather,
pawn their furs and winter clothes, these being so much more carefully
looked after there than they might be at home.
[174] Nominally of three years’--really of twenty-eight
months’--duration.
[175] These are entitled to receive from Government a small allowance
of rice, besides being permitted to exercise certain petty functions,
for which a certain charge is authorized. See _Appendix_ A.
[176] One of the strangers was the disembodied spirit of Hsiu’s
father, helping his son to take vengeance on the wicked Shên.
[177] An intermediate step between the first and second degrees, to
which certain privileges are attached.
XXVI.
THE LOST BROTHER.
In Honan there lived a man named Chang, who originally belonged to
Shantung. His wife had been seized and carried off by the soldiery
during the period when Ching Nan’s troops were overrunning the latter
province;[178] and as he was frequently in Honan on business, he
finally settled there and married a Honan wife, by whom he had a son
named Na. By-and-by this wife died, and he took another, who bore him
a son named Ch‘êng. The last-mentioned lady was from the Niu family,
and a very malicious woman. So jealous was she of Na, that she treated
him like a slave or a beast of the field, giving him only the coarsest
food, and making him cut a large bundle of wood every day, in default
of which she would beat and abuse him in a most shameful manner. On
the other hand she secretly reserved all the tit-bits for Ch‘êng, and
also sent him to school. As Ch‘êng grew up, and began to understand
the meaning of filial piety and fraternal love,[179] he could not bear
to see this treatment of his elder brother, and spoke privately to
his mother about it; but she would pay no heed to what he said.
One day, when Na was on the hills performing his task, a violent storm
came on, and he took shelter under a cliff. However, by the time it
was over the sun had set, and he began to feel very hungry. So,
shouldering his bundle, he wended his way home, where his step-mother,
displeased with the small quantity of wood he had brought, refused to
give him anything to eat. Quite overcome with hunger, Na went in and
lay down; and when Ch‘êng came back from school, and saw the state he
was in, he asked him if he was ill. Na replied that he was only
hungry, and then told his brother the whole story; whereupon Ch‘êng
coloured up and went away, returning shortly with some cakes, which he
offered to Na. “Where did you get them?” asked the latter. “Oh,”
replied Ch‘êng, “I stole some flour and got a neighbour’s wife to make
them for me. Eat away, and don’t talk.” Na ate them up; but begged his
brother not to do this again, as he might get himself into trouble. “I
shan’t die,” added he, “if I only get one meal a-day.” “You are not
strong,” rejoined Ch‘êng, “and shouldn’t cut so much wood as you do.”
Next day, after breakfast, Ch‘êng slipped away to the hills, and
arrived at the place where Na was occupied with his usual task, to the
great astonishment of the latter, who inquired what he was going to
do. “To help you cut wood,” replied Ch‘êng. “And who sent you?” asked
his brother. “No one,” said he; “I came of my own accord.” “Ah,” cried
Na, “you can’t do this work; and even if you can you must not. Run
along home again.” Ch‘êng, however, remained, aiding his brother with
his hands and feet alone, but declaring that on the morrow he would
bring an axe. Na tried to stop him, and found that he had already hurt
his finger and worn his shoes into holes; so he began to cry, and
said, “If you don’t go home directly, I’ll kill myself with my axe.”
Ch‘êng then went away, his brother seeing him half-way home, and going
back to finish his work by himself. He also called in the evening at
Ch‘êng’s school, and told the master his brother was a delicate boy,
and should not be allowed to go on the hills, where, he said, there
were fierce tigers and wolves. The master replied that he didn’t know
where Ch‘êng had been all the morning, but that he had caned him for
playing truant. Na further pointed out to Ch‘êng that by not doing as
he had told him, he had let himself in for a beating. Ch‘êng laughed,
and said he hadn’t been beaten; and the very next day off he went
again, and this time with a hatchet. “I told you not to come,” cried
Na, much alarmed; “why have you done so?” Ch‘êng made no reply, but
set to work chopping wood with such energy that the perspiration
poured down his face; and when he had cut about a bundle he went away
without saying a word. The master caned him again, and then Ch‘êng
told him how the matter stood, at which the former became full of
admiration for his pupil’s kind behaviour, and no longer prevented him
from going. His brother, however, frequently urged him not to come,
though without the slightest success; and one day, when they went with
a number of others to cut wood, a tiger rushed down from the hills
upon them. The wood-cutters hid themselves, in the greatest
consternation; and the tiger, seizing Ch‘êng, ran off with him in his
mouth. Ch‘êng’s weight caused the tiger to move slowly; and Na,
rushing after them, hacked away at the tiger’s flanks with his axe.
The pain only made the tiger hurry off, and in a few minutes they were
out of sight. Overwhelmed with grief, Na went back to his comrades,
who tried to soothe him; but he said, “My brother was no ordinary
brother, and, besides, he died for me; why, then, should I live?”
Here, seizing his hatchet, he made a great chop at his own neck, upon
which his companions prevented him from doing himself any more
mischief. The wound, however, was over an inch deep, and blood was
flowing so copiously that Na became faint, and seemed at the point of
death. They then tore up their clothes, and, after having bandaged his
neck, proceeded to carry him home. His step-mother cried bitterly, and
cursed him, saying, “You have killed my son, and now you go and cut
your neck in this make-believe kind of way.” “Don’t be angry, mother,”
replied Na; “I will not live now that my brother is dead.” He then
threw himself on the bed; but the pain of his wound was so great he
could not sleep, and day and night he sat leaning against the wall in
tears. His father, fearing that he too would die, went every now and
then and gave him a little nourishment; but his wife cursed him so for
doing it, that at length Na refused all food, and in three days he
died.