examination at Hsi-ngan, rested awhile in an inn, and ordered some
wine to drink. Just then a very tall and noble-looking stranger walked
in, and, seating himself by the side of Kung, entered into
conversation with him. Kung offered him a cup of wine, which the
stranger did not refuse; saying, at the same time, that his name was
Miao. But he was a rough, coarse fellow; and Kung, therefore, when the
wine was finished, did not call for any more. Miao then rose, and
observing that Kung did not appreciate a man of his capacity, went out
into the market to buy some, returning shortly with a huge bowl full.
Kung declined the proffered wine; but Miao, seizing his arm to
persuade him, gripped it so painfully that Kung was forced to drink a
few more cups, Miao himself swilling away as hard as he could go out
of a soup-plate. “I am not good at entertaining people,” cried Miao,
at length; “pray go on or stop just as you please.” Kung accordingly
put together his things and went off; but he had not gone more than a
few miles when his horse was taken ill, and lay down in the road.
While he was waiting there with all his heavy baggage, revolving in
his mind what he should do, up came Mr. Miao; who, when he heard what
was the matter, took off his coat and handed it to the servant, and
lifting up the horse, carried it off on his back to the nearest inn,
which was about six or seven miles distant. Arriving there he put the
animal in the stable, and before long Kung and his servants arrived
too. Kung was much astonished at Mr. Miao’s feat; and, believing him
to be superhuman, began to treat him with the utmost deference,
ordering both wine and food to be procured for their refreshment. “My
appetite,” remarked Miao, “is one that you could not easily satisfy.
Let us stick to wine.” So they finished another stoup together, and
then Miao got up and took his leave, saying, “It will be some time
before your horse is well; I cannot wait for you.” He then went away.
After the examination several friends of Kung’s invited him to join
them in a picnic to the Flowery Hill; and just as they were all
feasting and laughing together, lo! Mr. Miao walked up. In one hand he
held a large flagon, and in the other a ham, both of which he laid
down on the ground before them. “Hearing,” said he, “that you
gentlemen were coming here, I have tacked myself on to you, like a fly
to a horse’s tail.”[260] Kung and his friends then rose and received
him with the usual ceremonies, after which they all sat down
promiscuously.[261] By-and-by, when the wine had gone round pretty
freely, some one proposed capping verses; whereupon Miao cried out,
“Oh, we’re very jolly drinking like this; what’s the use of making
oneself uncomfortable?” The others, however, would not listen to him,
and agreed that as a forfeit a huge goblet of wine should be drunk by
any defaulter. “Let us rather make death the penalty,” said Miao; to
which they replied, laughing, that such a punishment was a trifle too
severe; and then Miao retorted that if it was not to be death, even a
rough fellow like himself might be able to join. A Mr. Chin, who was
sitting at the top of the line, then began:--
“From the hill-top high, wide extends the gaze--”
upon which Miao immediately carried on with
“Redly gleams the sword o’er the shattered vase.”[262]
The next gentleman thought for a long time, during which Miao was
helping himself to wine; and by-and-by they had all capped the verse,
but so wretchedly that Miao called out, “Oh, come! if we aren’t to be
fined for these,[263] we had better abstain from making any more.” As
none of them would agree to this, Miao could stand it no longer, and
roared like a dragon till the hills and valleys echoed again. He then
went down on his hands and knees, and jumped about like a lion, which
utterly confused the poets, and put an end to their lucubrations. The
wine had now been round a good many times, and being half tipsy each
began to repeat to the other the verses he had handed in at the recent
examination,[264] all at the same time indulging in any amount of
mutual flattery. This so disgusted Miao that he drew Kung aside to
have a game at “guess-fingers;”[265] but as they went on droning away
all the same, he at length cried out, “Do stop your rubbish, fit only
for your own wives,[266] and not for general company.” The others were
much abashed at this, and so angry were they at Miao’s rudeness that
they went on repeating all the louder. Miao then threw himself on the
ground in a passion, and with a roar changed into a tiger, immediately
springing upon the company, and killing them all except Kung and Mr.
Chin. He then ran off roaring loudly. Now this Mr. Chin succeeded in
taking his master’s degree; and three years afterwards, happening to
revisit the Flowery Hill, he beheld a Mr. Chi, one of those very
gentlemen who had previously been killed by the tiger. In great alarm
he was making off, when Chi seized his bridle and would not let him
proceed. So he got down from his horse, and inquired what was the
matter; to which Chi replied, “I am now the slave of Miao, and have to
endure bitter toil for him. He must kill some one else before I can be
set free.[267] Three days hence a man, arrayed in the robes and cap
of a scholar, should be eaten by the tiger at the foot of the
Ts‘ang-lung Hill. Do you on that day take some gentleman thither, and
thus help your old friend.” Chin was too frightened to say much, but
promising that he would do so, rode away home. He then began to
consider the matter over with himself, and, regarding it as a plot, he
determined to break his engagement, and let his friend remain the
tiger’s devil. He chanced, however, to repeat the story to a Mr.
Chiang who was a relative of his, and one of the local scholars; and
as this gentleman had a grudge against another scholar, named Yu, who
had come out equal with him at the examination, he made up his mind to
destroy him. So he invited Yu to accompany him on that day to the
place in question, mentioning that he himself should appear in undress
only. Yu could not make out the reason for this; but when he reached
the spot there he found all kinds of wine and food ready for his
entertainment. Now that very day the Prefect had come to the hill; and
being a friend of the Chiang family, and hearing that Chiang was
below, sent for him to come up. Chiang did not dare to appear before
him in undress, and borrowed Yu’s clothes and hat; but he had no
sooner got them on than out rushed the tiger and carried him away in
its mouth.
FOOTNOTES:
[260] Alluding to a well-known expression which occurs in the
_Historical Record_, and is often used in the sense of deriving
advantage from connection with some influential person.
[261] Without any regard to precedence, which plays quite as important
a part at a Chinese as at a western dinner-party. In China, however,
the most honoured guest sits at (what may be called) the head of the
table, the host at the foot. I say “what may be called,” as Chinese
dining-tables are almost invariably square, and position alone
determines which is the head and which the foot. They are usually made
to accommodate eight persons; hence the fancy name “eight-angel
table,” in allusion to the eight famous angels, or Immortals, of the
Taoist religion. (See No. V., note 48.) Occasionally, round tables are
used; especially in cases where the party consists of some such number
as ten.
[262] It is almost impossible to give in translation the true spirit
of a Chinese antithetical couplet. There are so many points to be
brought out, each word of the second line being in opposition both in
tone and sense to a corresponding word in the first, that anything
beyond a rough rendering of the idea conveyed would be superfluous in
a work like this. Suffice it to say that Miao has here successfully
capped the verse given; and the more so because he has introduced,
through the medium of “sword” and “shattered vase,” an allusion to a
classical story in which a certain Wang Tun, when drunk with wine,
beat time on a vase with his sword, and smashed the lip.
[263] This is the _vel ego vel Cluvienus_ style of satire, his own
verse having been particularly good.
[264] Many candidates, successful or otherwise, have their verses and
essays printed, and circulate them among an admiring circle of
friends.
[265] Accurately described in Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p.
75:--“Each player throws out a hand, and the sum of all the fingers
shown has to be called, the successful caller scoring a point;
practically each calls the total before he sees his adversary’s hand.”
The insertion of the word “simultaneously” after “called” would
improve this description. This game is so noisy that the Hong-kong
authorities have forbidden it, except within certain authorised
limits, between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.--Ordinance No. 2 of
1872.
[266] This delicate stroke is of itself sufficient to prove the truth
of the oft-quoted Chinese saying, that all between the Four Seas are
brothers.
[267] The “substitution” theory by which disembodied spirits are
enabled to find their way back to the world of mortals. A very
interesting and important example of this belief occurs in a later
story (No. CVII.), for which place I reserve further comments.
XLVI.
THE SISTERS.
His Excellency the Grand Secretary Mao came from an obscure family in
the district of Yeh, his father being only a poor cow-herd. At the
same place there resided a wealthy gentleman, named Chang, who owned a
burial-ground in the neighbourhood; and some one informed him that
while passing by he had heard sounds of wrangling from within the
grave, and voices saying, “Make haste and go away; do not disturb His
Excellency’s home.” Chang did not much believe this; but subsequently
he had several dreams in which he was told that the burial-ground in
question really belonged to the Mao family, and that he had no right
whatever to it. From this moment the affairs of his house began to go
wrong;[268] and at length he listened to the remonstrances of friends
and removed his dead elsewhere.
One day Mao’s father, the cow-herd, was out near this burial-ground,
when, a storm of rain coming on, he took refuge in the now empty
grave, while the rain came down harder than ever, and by-and-by
flooded the whole place and drowned the old man. The Grand Secretary
was then a mere boy, and his mother went off to Chang to beg a piece
of ground wherein to bury her dead husband. When Chang heard her name
he was greatly astonished; and on going to look at the spot where the
old man was drowned, found that it was exactly at the proper place for
the coffin. More than ever amazed, he gave orders that the body should
be buried there in the old grave, and also bade Mao’s mother bring her
son to see him. When the funeral was over, she went with Mao to Mr.
Chang’s house, to thank him for his kindness; and so pleased was he
with the boy that he kept him to be educated, ranking him as one of
his own sons. He also said he would give him his eldest daughter as a
wife, an offer which Mao’s mother hardly dared accept; but Mrs. Chang
said that the thing was settled and couldn’t be altered, so then she
was obliged to consent. The young lady, however, had a great contempt
for Mao, and made no effort to disguise her feelings; and if any one
spoke to her of him, she would put her fingers in her ears, declaring
she would die sooner than marry the cow-boy. On the day appointed for
the wedding, the bridegroom arrived, and was feasted within, while
outside the door a handsome chair was in waiting to convey away the
bride, who all this time was standing crying in a corner, wiping her
eyes with her sleeve, and absolutely refusing to dress. Just then the
bridegroom sent in to say he was going,[269] and the drums and
trumpets struck up the wedding march, at which the bride’s tears only
fell the faster as her hair hung dishevelled down her back. Her father
managed to detain Mao awhile, and went in to urge his daughter to make
haste, she weeping bitterly as if she did not hear what he was saying.
He now got into a rage, which only made her cry the louder; and in the
middle of it all a servant came to say the bridegroom wished to take
his leave. The father ran out and said his daughter wasn’t quite
ready, begging Mao to wait a little longer; and then hurried back
again to the bride. Thus they went on for some time, backwards and
forwards, until at last things began to look serious, for the young
lady obstinately refused to yield; and Mr. Chang was ready to commit
suicide for want of anything better. Just then his second daughter was
standing by upbraiding her elder sister for her disobedience, when
suddenly the latter turned round in a rage, and cried out, “So you are
imitating the rest of them, you little minx; why don’t you go and
marry him yourself?” “My father did not betroth me to Mr. Mao,”
answered she, “but if he had I should not require you to persuade me
to accept him.” Her father was delighted with this reply, and at once
went off and consulted with his wife as to whether they could venture
to substitute the second for the elder; and then her mother came and
said to her, “That bad girl there won’t obey her parent’s commands; we
wish, therefore, to put you in her place: will you consent to this
arrangement?” The younger sister readily agreed, saying that had they
told her to marry a beggar she would not have dared to refuse, and
that she had not such a low opinion of Mr. Mao as all that. Her father
and mother rejoiced exceedingly at receiving this reply; and dressing
her up in her sister’s clothes, put her in the bridal chair and sent
her off. She proved an excellent wife, and lived in harmony with her
husband; but she was troubled with a disease of the hair, which caused
Mr. Mao some annoyance. Later on, she told him how she had changed
places with her sister, and this made him think more highly of her
than before. Soon after Mao took his bachelor’s degree, and then set
off to present himself as a candidate for the master’s degree. On the
way he passed by an inn, the landlord of which had dreamt the night
before that a spirit appeared to him and said, “To-morrow Mr. Mao,
first on the list, will come. Some day he will extricate you from a
difficulty.” Accordingly the landlord got up early, and took especial
note of all guests who came from the eastward, until at last Mao
himself arrived. The landlord was very glad to see him, and provided
him with the best of everything, refusing to take any payment for it
all, but telling what he had dreamt the night before. Mao now began to
give himself airs; and, reflecting that his wife’s want of hair would
make him look ridiculous, he determined that as soon as he attained to
rank and power he would find another spouse. But alas! when the
successful list of candidates was published, Mao’s name was not among
them; and he retraced his steps with a heavy heart, and by another
road, so as to avoid meeting the innkeeper. Three years afterwards he
went up again, and the landlord received him with precisely the same
attentions as on the previous occasion; upon which Mao said to him,
“Your former words did not come true; I am now ashamed to put you to
so much trouble.” “Ah,” replied the landlord, “you meant to get rid of
your wife, and the Ruler of the world below struck out your name.[270]
My dream couldn’t have been false.” In great astonishment, Mao asked
what he meant by these words; and then he learnt that after his
departure the landlord had had a second dream informing him of the
above facts. Mao was much alarmed at what he heard, and remained as
motionless as a wooden image, until the landlord said to him, “You,
Sir, as a scholar, should have more self-respect, and you will
certainly take the highest place.” By-and-by when the list came out,
Mao was the first of all; and almost simultaneously his wife’s hair
began to grow quite thick, making her much better-looking than she had
hitherto been.
Now her elder sister had married a rich young fellow of good family,
who lived in the neighbourhood, which made the young lady more
contemptuous than ever; but he was so extravagant and so idle that
their property was soon gone, and they were positively in want of
food. Hearing, too, of Mr. Mao’s success at the examination, she was
overwhelmed with shame and vexation, and avoided even meeting her
sister in the street. Just then her husband died and left her
destitute; and about the same time Mao took his doctor’s degree, which
so aggravated her feelings that, in a passion, she became a nun.
Subsequently, when Mao rose to be a high officer of state, she sent a
novice to his yamên to try and get a subscription out of him for the
temple; and Mao’s wife, who gave several pieces of silk and other
things, secretly inserted a sum of money among them. The novice, not
knowing this, reported what she had received to the elder sister, who
cried out in a passion, “I wanted money to buy food with; of what use
are these things to me?” So she bade the novice take them back; and
when Mao and his wife saw her return, they suspected what had
happened, and opening the parcel found the money still there. They now
understood why the presents had been refused; and taking the money,
Mao said to the novice, “If one hundred ounces of silver is too much
luck for your mistress to secure, of course she could never have
secured a high official, such as I am now, for her husband.” He then
took fifty ounces, and giving them to the novice, sent her away,
adding, “Hand this to your mistress, I’m afraid more would be too much
for her.”[271] The novice returned and repeated all that had been
said; and then the elder sister sighed to think what a failure her
life had been, and how she had rejected the worthy to accept the
worthless. After this, the innkeeper got into trouble about a case of
murder, and was imprisoned; but Mao exerted his influence, and
obtained the man’s pardon.
FOOTNOTES:
[268] Such is the dominant belief regarding the due selection of an
auspicious site, whether for a house or grave; and with this
superstition deeply ingrained in the minds of the people, it is easy
to understand the hold on the public mind possessed by the
pseudo-scientific professors of Fêng-Shui, or the geomantic art.
[269] The bridegroom leads off the procession, and the bride follows
shortly afterwards in an elaborately-gilt sedan-chair, closed in on
all sides so that the occupant cannot be seen.
[270] Here again we have the common Chinese belief that fate is fate
only within certain limits, and is always liable to be altered at the
will of heaven.
[271] This is another curious phase of Chinese superstition, namely,
that each individual is so constituted by nature as to be able to
absorb only a given quantity of good fortune and no more, any
superfluity of luck doing actual harm to the person on whom it falls.
XLVII.
FOREIGN[272] PRIESTS.
The Buddhist priest, T‘i-k‘ung, relates that when he was at
Ch‘ing-chou he saw two foreign priests of very extraordinary
appearance. They wore rings in their ears, were dressed in yellow
cloth, and had curly hair and beards. They said they had come from the
countries of the west; and hearing that the Governor of the district
was a devoted follower of Buddha, they went to visit him. The Governor
sent a couple of servants to escort them to the monastery of the
place, where the abbot, Ling-p‘ei, did not receive them very
cordially; but the secular manager, seeing that they were not ordinary
individuals, entertained them and kept them there for the night. Some
one asked if there were many strange men in the west, and what magical
arts were practised by the Lohans;[273] whereupon one of them laughed,
and putting forth his hand from his sleeve, showed a small pagoda,
fully a foot in height, and beautifully carved, standing upon the
palm. Now very high up in the wall there was a niche; and the priest
threw the pagoda up to it, when lo! it stood there firm and straight.
After a few moments the pagoda began to incline to one side, and a
glory, as from a relic of some saint, was diffused throughout the
room. The other priest then bared his arms, and stretched out his left
until it was five or six feet in length, at the same time shortening
his right arm until it dwindled to nothing. He then stretched out the
latter until it was as long as his left arm.
FOOTNOTES:
[272] The word here used is _fan_, generally translated “barbarian.”
[273] The disciples of Shâkyamuni Buddha. Same as _Arhans_.
XLVIII.
THE SELF-PUNISHED MURDERER.
Mr. Li took his doctor’s degree late in life.[274] On the 28th of the
9th moon of the 4th year of K‘ang Hsi,[275] he killed his wife. The
neighbours reported the murder to the officials, and the high
authorities instructed the district magistrate to investigate the
case. At this juncture Mr. Li was standing at the door of his
residence; and snatching a butcher’s knife from a stall hard by, he
rushed into the Ch‘êng-huang[276] temple, where, mounting the
theatrical stage,[277] he threw himself on his knees, and spoke as
follows:--“The spirit here will punish me. I am not to be prosecuted
by evil men who, from party motives, confuse right and wrong. The
spirit moves me to cut off an ear.” Thereupon he cut off his left ear
and threw it down from the stage. He then said the spirit was going to
fine him a hand for cheating people out of their money; and he
forthwith chopped off his left hand. Lastly, he cried out that he was
to be punished severely for all his many crimes; and immediately cut
his own throat. The Viceroy subsequently received the Imperial
permission to deprive him of his rank[278] and bring him to trial; but
he was then being punished by a higher power in the realms of darkness
below. See the _Peking Gazette_.[279]
FOOTNOTES:
[274] There is no limit as to age in the competitive examinations of
China. The _San-tzŭ-Ching_ records the case of a man who graduated at
the mature age of eighty-two.
[275] In 1665, that is between fourteen and fifteen years previous to
the completion of the _Liao Chai_.
[276] See No. I., note 36.
[277] Religion and the drama work hand in hand in China.
[278] Always the first step in the prosecution of a graduate. In this
case, the accused was also an official.
[279] Of what date, our author does not say, or it would be curious to
try and hunt up the official record of this case as it appeared in the
government organ of the day. The unfortunate man was in all
probability insane.
XLIX.
THE MASTER THIEF.
Before his rebellion,[280] Prince Wu frequently told his soldiers that
if any one of them could catch a tiger unaided he would give him a
handsome pension and the title of the Tiger Daunter. In his camp there
was a man named Pao-chu, as strong and agile as a monkey; and once
when a new tower was being built, the wooden framework having only
just been set up, Pao-chu walked along the eaves, and finally got up
on to the very tip-top beam, where he ran backwards and forwards
several times. He then jumped down, alighting safely on his feet.