fellow walk in and seat himself at no great distance in a very
melancholy mood. Lê asked him if he was hungry, and on receiving no
answer, pushed some food over towards him. The stranger immediately
set to feeding himself by handfuls, and in no time the whole had
disappeared. Lê ordered another supply, but that was quickly disposed
of in like manner; and then he told the landlord to bring a shoulder
of pork and a quantity of boiled dumplings. Thus, after eating enough
for half a dozen, his appetite was appeased and he turned to thank his
benefactor, saying, “For three years I haven’t had such a meal.” “And
why should a fine fellow like you be in such a state of destitution?”
inquired Lê; to which the other only replied, “The judgments of heaven
may not be discussed.” Being asked where he lived, the stranger
replied, “On land I have no home, on the water no boat; at dawn in the
village, at night in the city.” Lê then prepared to depart; but his
friend would not leave him, declaring that he was in imminent danger,
and that he could not forget the late kindness Lê had shewn him. So
they went along together, and on the way Lê invited the other to eat
with him; but this he refused, saying that he only took food
occasionally. Lê marvelled more than ever at this; and next day when
they were on the river a great storm arose and capsized all their
boats, Lê himself being thrown into the water with the others.
Suddenly the gale abated and the stranger bore Lê on his back to
another boat, plunging at once into the water and bringing back the
lost vessel, upon which he placed Lê and bade him remain quietly
there. He then returned once more, this time carrying in his arms a
part of the cargo, which he replaced in the vessel, and so he went on
until it was all restored. Lê thanked him, saying, “It was enough to
save my life; but you have added to this the restoration of my goods.”
Nothing, in fact, had been lost, and now Lê began to regard the
stranger as something more than human. The latter here wished to take
his leave, but Lê pressed him so much to stay that at last he
consented to remain. Then Lê remarked that after all he had lost a
gold pin, and immediately the stranger plunged into the water again,
rising at length to the surface with the missing article in his mouth,
and presenting it to Lê with the remark that he was delighted to be
able to fulfil his commands. The people on the river were all much
astonished at what they saw; meanwhile Lê went home with his friend,
and there they lived together, the big man only eating once in ten or
twelve days, but then displaying an enormous appetite. One day he
spoke of going away, to which Lê would by no means consent; and as it
was just then about to rain and thunder, he asked him to tell him what
the clouds were like, and what thunder was, also how he could get up
to the sky and have a look, so as to set his mind at rest on the
subject. “Would you like to have a ramble among the clouds?” asked
the stranger, as Lê was lying down to take a nap; on awaking from
which he felt himself spinning along through the air, and not at all
as if he was lying on a bed. Opening his eyes he saw he was among the
clouds, and around him was a fleecy atmosphere. Jumping up in great
alarm, he felt giddy as if he had been at sea, and underneath his feet
he found a soft, yielding substance, unlike the earth. Above him were
the stars, and this made him think he was dreaming; but looking up he
saw that they were set in the sky like seeds in the cup of a lily,
varying from the size of the biggest bowl to that of a small basin. On
raising his hand he discovered that the large stars were all tightly
fixed; but he managed to pick a small one, which he concealed in his
sleeve; and then, parting the clouds beneath him, he looked through
and saw the sea glittering like silver below. Large cities appeared no
bigger than beans--just at this moment, however, he bethought himself
that if his foot were to slip, what a tremendous fall he would have.
He now beheld two dragons writhing their way along, and drawing a cart
with a huge vat in it, each movement of their tails sounding like the
crack of a bullock-driver’s whip. The vat was full of water, and
numbers of men were employed in ladling it out and sprinkling it on
the clouds. These men were astonished at seeing Lê; however, a big
fellow among them called out, “All right, he’s my friend,” and then
they gave him a ladle to help them throw the water out. Now it
happened to be a very dry season, and when Lê got hold of the ladle he
took good care to throw the water so that it should all fall on and
around his own home. The stranger then told him that he was the God of
Thunder,[341] and that he had just returned from a three years’
punishment inflicted on him in consequence of some neglect of his in
the matter of rain. He added that they must now part; and taking the
long rope which had been used as reins for the cart, bade Lê grip it
tightly, that he might be let down to earth. Lê was afraid of this,
but on being told there was no danger he did so, and in a moment
whish-h-h-h-h--away he went and found himself safe and sound on _terra
firma_. He discovered that he had descended outside his native
village, and then the rope was drawn up into the clouds and he saw it
no more. The drought had been excessive; for three or four miles round
very little rain had fallen, though in Lê’s own village the
water-courses were all full. On reaching home he took the star out of
his sleeve, and put it on the table. It was dull-looking like an
ordinary stone; but at night it became very brilliant and lighted up
the whole house. This made him value it highly, and he stored it
carefully away, bringing it out only when he had guests, to light them
at their wine. It was always thus dazzlingly bright, until one evening
when his wife was sitting with him doing her hair, the star began to
diminish in brilliancy, and to flit about like a fire-fly. Mrs. Lê sat
gaping with astonishment, when all of a sudden it flitted into her
mouth and ran down her throat. She tried to cough it up but couldn’t,
to the very great amazement of her husband. That night Lê dreamt that
his old friend Hsia appeared before him and said, “I am the Shao-wei
star. Your friendship is still cherished by me, and now you have
brought me back from the sky. Truly our destinies are knitted
together, and I will repay your kindness by becoming your son.” Now Lê
was thirty years of age but without sons; however, after this dream
his wife bore him a male child, and they called his name Star. He was
extraordinarily clever, and at sixteen years of age took his master’s
degree.
FOOTNOTE:
[341] This deity is believed to be constantly on the look-out for
wicked people, aided by the Goddess of Lightning, who flashes a mirror
on to whomsoever the God wishes to strike. “_The thief eats
thunderbolts_,” means that he will bring down vengeance from Heaven on
himself. Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p. 88.
LX.
THE GAMBLER’S TALISMAN.
A Taoist priest, called Han, lived at the T‘ien-ch‘i temple, in our
district city. His knowledge of the black art was very extensive, and
the neighbours all regarded him as an Immortal.[342] My late father
was on intimate terms with him, and whenever he went into the city
invariably paid him a visit. One day, on such an occasion, he was
proceeding thither in company with my late uncle, when suddenly they
met Han on the road. Handing them the key of the door, he begged them
to go on and wait awhile for him, promising to be there shortly
himself. Following out these instructions they repaired to the temple,
but on unlocking the door there was Han sitting inside--a feat which
he subsequently performed several times.
Now a relative of mine, who was terribly given to gambling, also knew
this priest, having been introduced to him by my father. And once this
relative, meeting with a Buddhist priest from the T‘ien-fo temple,
addicted like himself to the vice of gambling, played with him until
he had lost everything, even going so far as to pledge the whole of
his property, which he lost in a single night. Happening to call in
upon Han as he was going back, the latter noticed his exceedingly
dejected appearance, and the rambling answers he gave, and asked him
what was the matter. On hearing the story of his losses, Han only
laughed, and said, “That’s what always overtakes the gambler, sooner
or later; if, however, you will break yourself of the habit, I will
get your money back for you.” “Ah,” cried the other, “if you will only
do that, you may break my head with a pestle when you catch me
gambling again.” So Han gave him a talismanic formula, written out on
a piece of paper, to put in his girdle, bidding him only win back what
he had lost, and not attempt to get a fraction more. He also handed
him 1000 _cash_, on condition that this sum should be repaid from his
winnings, and off went my relative delighted. The Buddhist, however,
turned up his nose at the smallness of his means, and said it wasn’t
worth his while to stake so little; but at last he was persuaded into
having one throw for the whole lot. They then began, the priest
leading off with a fair throw, to which his opponent replied by a
better; whereupon the priest doubled his stake, and my relative won
again, going on and on until the latter’s good luck had brought him
back all that he had previously lost. He thought, however, that he
couldn’t do better than just win a few more strings of cash, and
accordingly went on; but gradually his luck turned, and on looking
into his girdle he found that the talisman was gone. In a great fright
he jumped up, and went off with his winnings to the temple, where he
reckoned up that after deducting Han’s loan, and adding what he had
lost towards the end, he had exactly the amount originally his. With
shame in his face he turned to thank Han, mentioning at the same time
the loss of the talisman; at which Han only laughed, and said, “That
has got back before you. I told you not to be over-greedy, and as you
didn’t heed me, I took the talisman away.”[343]
FOOTNOTES:
[342] See No. V., note 48.
[343] Gambling is the great Chinese vice, far exceeding in its ill
effects all that opium has ever done to demoralize the country. Public
gaming-houses are strictly forbidden by law, but their existence is
winked at by a too venal executive. _Fantan_ is the favourite game. It
consists in staking on the remainder of an unknown number of cash,
after the heap has been divided by four, namely whether it will be
three, two, one, or nothing; with other variations of a more
complicated nature.
LXI.
THE HUSBAND PUNISHED.
Ching Hsing, of Wên-têng, was a young fellow of some literary
reputation, who lived next door to a Mr. Ch‘ên, their studios being
separated only by a low wall. One evening Ch‘ên was crossing a piece
of waste ground when he heard a young girl crying among some
pine-trees hard by. He approached, and saw a girdle hanging from one
of the branches, as if its owner was just on the point of hanging
herself. Ch‘ên asked her what was the matter, and then she brushed
away her tears, and said, “My mother has gone away and left me in
charge of my brother-in-law; but he’s a scamp, and won’t continue to
take care of me; and now there is nothing left for me but to die.”
Hereupon the girl began crying again, and Ch‘ên untied the girdle and
bade her go and find herself a husband; to which she said there was
very little chance of that; and then Ch‘ên offered to take her to his
own home--an offer which she very gladly accepted. Soon after they
arrived, his neighbour Ching thought he heard a noise, and jumped over
the wall to have a peep, when lo and behold! at the door of Ch‘ên’s
house stood this young lady, who immediately ran away into the garden
on seeing Ching. The two young men pursued her, but without success,
and were obliged to return each to his own room, Ching being greatly
astonished to find the same girl now standing at his door. On
addressing the young lady, she told him that his neighbour’s destiny
was too poor a one for her,[344] and that she came from Shantung, and
that her name was Ch‘i A-hsia. She finally agreed to take up her
residence with Ching; but after a few days, finding that a great
number of his friends were constantly calling, she declared it was too
noisy a place for her, and that she would only visit him in the
evening. This she continued to do for a few days, telling him in reply
to his inquiries that her home was not very far off. One evening,
however, she remarked that their present _liaison_ was not very
creditable to either; that her father was a mandarin on the western
frontier, and that she was about to set out with her mother to join
him; begging him meanwhile to make a formal request for the
celebration of their nuptials, in order to prevent them from being
thus separated. She further said that they started in ten days or so,
and then Ching began to reflect that if he married her she would have
to take her place in the family, and that would make his first wife
jealous; so he determined to get rid of the latter, and when she came
in he began to abuse her right and left. His wife bore it as long as
she could, but at length cried out it were better she should die; upon
which Ching advised her not to bring trouble on them all like that,
but to go back to her own home. He then drove her away, his wife
asking all the time what she had done to be sent away like this after
ten years of blameless life with him.[345] Ching, however, paid no
heed to her entreaties, and when he had got rid of her he set to work
at once to get the house whitewashed and made generally clean, himself
being on the tip-toe of expectation for the arrival of Miss A-hsia.
But he waited and waited, and no A-hsia came; she seemed gone like a
stone dropped into the sea. Meanwhile emissaries came from his late
wife’s family begging him to take her back; and when he flatly
refused, she married a gentleman of position named Hsia, whose
property adjoined Ching’s, and who had long been at feud with him in
consequence, as is usual in such cases. This made Ching furious, but
he still hoped that A-hsia would come, and tried to console himself in
this way. Yet more than a year passed away and still no signs of her,
until one day, at the festival of the Sea Spirits, he saw among the
crowds of girls passing in and out one who very much resembled A-hsia.
Ching moved towards her, following her as she threaded her way through
the crowd as far as the temple gate, where he lost sight of her
altogether, to his great mortification and regret. Another six months
passed away, when one day he met a young lady dressed in red,
accompanied by an old man-servant, and riding on a black mule. It was
A-hsia. So he asked the old man the name of his young mistress, and
learnt from him that she was the second wife of a gentleman named
Chêng, having been married to him about a fortnight previously. Ching
now thought she could not be A-hsia, but just then the young lady,
hearing them talking, turned her head, and Ching saw that he was
right. And now, finding that she had actually married another man, he
was overwhelmed with rage, and cried out in a loud voice, “A-hsia!
A-hsia! why did you break faith?” The servant here objected to his
mistress being thus addressed by a stranger, and was squaring up to
Ching, when A-hsia bade him desist; and, raising her veil, replied,
“And you, faithless one, how do you dare meet my gaze?” “You are the
faithless one,” said Ching, “not I.” “To be faithless to your wife is
worse than being faithless to me,” rejoined A-hsia; “if you behaved
like that to her, how should I have been treated at your hands?
Because of the fair fame of your ancestors, and the honours gained by
them, I was willing to ally myself with you; but now that you have
discarded your wife, your thread of official advancement has been cut
short in the realms below, and Mr. Ch‘ên is to take the place that
should have been yours at the head of the examination list. As for
myself, I am now part of the Chêng family; think no more of me.” Ching
hung his head and could make no reply; and A-hsia whipped up her mule
and disappeared from his sight, leaving him to return home
disconsolate. At the forthcoming examination, everything turned out as
she had predicted; Mr. Ch‘ên was at the top of the list, and he
himself was thrown out. It was clear that his luck was gone. At forty
he had no wife, and was so poor that he was glad to pick up a meal
where he could. One day he called on Mr. Chêng, who treated him well
and kept him there for the night; and while there Chêng’s second wife
saw him, and asked her husband if his guest’s name wasn’t Ching. “It
is,” said he, “how could you guess that?” “Well,” replied she, “before
I married you, I took refuge in his house, and he was then very kind
to me. Although he has now sunk low, yet his ancestors’ influence on
the family fortunes is not yet exhausted;[346] besides he is an old
acquaintance of yours, and you should try and do something for him.”
Chêng consented, and having first given him a new suit of clothes,
kept him in the house several days. At night a slave-girl came to him
with twenty ounces of silver for him, and Mrs. Chêng, who was outside
the window, said, “This is a trifling return for your past kindness to
me. Go and get yourself a good wife. The family luck is not yet
exhausted, but will descend to your sons and grandchildren. Do not
behave like this again, and so shorten your term of life.” Ching
thanked her and went home, using ten ounces of silver to procure a
concubine from a neighbouring family, who was very ugly and
ill-tempered. However, she bore him a son, and he by-and-by graduated
as doctor. Mr. Chêng became Vice-President of the Board of Civil
Office,[347] and at his death A-hsia attended the funeral; but when
they opened her chair on its return home, she was gone, and then
people knew for the first time that she was not mortal flesh and
blood. Alas! for the perversity of mankind, rejecting the old and
craving for the new?[348] And then when they come back to the familiar
nest, the birds have all flown. Thus does heaven punish such people.
FOOTNOTES:
[344] See No. XLVI., note 271.
[345] See No. LIII., note 288.
[346] The virtuous conduct of any individual will result not only in
happiness and prosperity to himself, but a certain quantity of these
will descend to his posterity, unless, as in the present case, there
is one among them whose personal wickedness neutralizes any benefits
that would otherwise accrue therefrom. Here we have an instance where
the crimes of a descendant still left a balance of good fortune
surviving from the accumulated virtue of generations.
[347] One of the six departments of State administration.
[348] This seems a curious charge to bring against a people who for a
stolid and bigoted conservatism have rarely, if ever, been equalled.
Mencius, however, uttered one golden sentence which might be brought
to bear upon the occasionally foolish opposition of the Chinese to
measures of proved advantage to the commonwealth. “Live,” said the
Sage, “in harmony with the age in which you are born.”
LXII.
THE MARRIAGE LOTTERY.
A certain labourer’s son, named Ma T‘ien-jung, lost his wife when he
was only about twenty years of age, and was too poor to take another.
One day when out hoeing in the fields, he beheld a nice-looking young
lady leave the path and come tripping across the furrows towards him.
Her face was well painted,[349] and she had altogether such a refined
look that Ma concluded she must have lost her way, and began to make
some playful remarks in consequence. “You go along home,” cried the
young lady, “and I’ll be with you by-and-by.” Ma doubted this rather
extraordinary promise, but she vowed and declared she would not break
her word; and then Ma went off, telling her that his front door faced
the north, etc., etc. In the evening the young lady arrived, and then
Ma saw that her hands and face were covered with fine hair, which made
him suspect at once she was a fox. She did not deny the accusation;
and accordingly Ma said to her, “If you really are one of those
wonderful creatures you will be able to get me anything I want; and I
should be much obliged if you would begin by giving me some money to
relieve my poverty.” The young lady said she would; and next evening
when she came again, Ma asked her where the money was. “Dear me!”
replied she, “I quite forgot it.” When she was going away, Ma reminded
her of what he wanted, but on the following evening she made precisely
the same excuse, promising to bring it another day. A few nights
afterwards Ma asked her once more for the money, and then she drew
from her sleeve two pieces of silver, each weighing about five or six
ounces. They were both of fine quality, with turned-up edges,[350] and
Ma was very pleased and stored them away in a cupboard. Some months
after this, he happened to require some money for use, and took out
these pieces; but the person to whom he showed them said they were
only pewter, and easily bit off a portion of one of them with his
teeth. Ma was much alarmed, and put the pieces away directly; taking
the opportunity when evening came of abusing the young lady roundly.
“It’s all your bad luck,” retorted she; “real gold would be too much
for your inferior destiny.”[351] There was an end of that; but Ma went
on to say, “I always heard that fox-girls were of surpassing beauty;
how is it you are not?” “Oh,” replied the young lady, “we always adapt
ourselves to our company. Now you haven’t the luck of an ounce of
silver to call your own; and what would you do, for instance, with a
beautiful princess?[352] My beauty may not be good enough for the
aristocracy; but among your big-footed, burden-carrying rustics,[353]
why it may safely be called ‘surpassing.’”
A few months passed away, and then one day the young lady came and
gave Ma three ounces of silver, saying, “You have often asked me for
money, but in consequence of your weak luck I have always refrained
from giving you any. Now, however, your marriage is at hand, and I
here give you the cost of a wife, which you may also regard as a
parting gift from me.” Ma replied that he wasn’t engaged, to which the
young lady answered that in a few days a go-between would visit him to
arrange the affair. “And what will she be like?” asked Ma. “Why, as
your aspirations are for ‘surpassing’ beauty,” replied the young lady,
“of course she will be possessed of surpassing beauty.” “I hardly
expect that,” said Ma; “at any rate three ounces of silver will not be
enough to get a wife.” “Marriages,” explained the young lady, “are
made in the moon;[354] mortals have nothing to do with them.” “And why
must you be going away like this?” inquired Ma. “Because,” answered
she, “we go on shilly-shallying from day to day, and month to month,
and nothing ever comes of it. I had better get you another wife and
have done with you.” Then when morning came, she departed, giving Ma a
pinch of yellow powder, saying, “In case you are ill after we are
separated, this will cure you.” Next day, sure enough, a go-between
did come, and Ma at once asked what the proposed bride was like; to
which the former replied that she was very passable-looking. Four or
five ounces of silver was fixed as the marriage present, Ma making no
difficulty on that score, but declaring he must have a peep at the
young lady.[355] The go-between said she was a respectable girl, and
would never allow herself to be seen; however it was arranged that
they should go to the house together, and await a good opportunity. So
off they went, Ma remaining outside while the go-between went in,
returning in a little while to tell him it was all right. “A relative
of mine lives in the same court, and just now I saw the young lady
sitting in the hall. We have only got to pretend we are going to see
my relative, and you will be able to get a glimpse of her.” Ma
consented, and they accordingly passed through the hall, where he saw
the young lady sitting down with her head bent forward while some one
was scratching her back. She seemed to be all that the go-between had
said; but when they came to discuss the money, it appeared the young
lady only wanted one or two ounces of silver, just to buy herself a
few clothes, etc., at which Ma was delighted, and gave the go-between
a present for her trouble, which just finished up the three ounces his
fox-friend had provided. An auspicious day was chosen, and the young
lady came over to his house; when lo! she was hump-backed and
pigeon-breasted, with a short neck like a tortoise, and boat-shaped
feet, full ten inches long. The meaning of his fox-friend’s remarks
then flashed upon him.
FOOTNOTES:
[349] Only slave-girls and women of the poorer classes, and old women,
omit this very important part of a Chinese lady’s toilet.
[350] Alluding probably to the shape of the “shoe” or ingot of silver.
[351] See No. XLVI., note 271.
[352] Literally, “One who would make wild geese alight and fish dive
down for shame;” or, as the next line from the same poem has it, “a
beauty which would obscure the moon and put flowers to the blush.”
[353] Slave-girls do not have their feet compressed.
[354] Wherein resides an old gentleman who ties together with a red
cord the feet of those destined to become man and wife. From this bond
there is no escape, no matter what distance may separate the affianced
pair. The first go-between, Ku Ts‘ê, was originally seen, on ice,
arranging matches with some one below:--
“Marriage is not a trifling thing--
The Book and the Vermilion String!
On ice by moonlight may be seen
The wedded couples’ go-between.”
--_A Thousand Character Essay for Girls._
Hence the common phrase “to do the ice (business),” _i.e._, to arrange
a marriage.
[355] This proceeding is highly improper, but is winked at in a large
majority of Chinese betrothals.
END OF VOL. I.
THOS. DE LA RUE AND CO., PRINTERS, BUNHILL ROW, LONDON.
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
TRANSLATED AND ANNOTATED
BY
HERBERT A. GILES,
_Of H.M.’s Consular Service_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
THOS. DE LA RUE & CO.
110, BUNHILL ROW.
1880.
PRINTED BY
THOMAS DE LA RUE AND CO., BUNHILL ROW,
LONDON.
STRANGE STORIES
FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO.
LXIII.
THE LO-CH‘A COUNTRY AND THE SEA-MARKET.[356]
Once upon a time there was a young man, named Ma Chün, who was also
known as Lung-mei. He was the son of a trader, and a youth of
surpassing beauty. His manners were courteous, and he loved nothing
better than singing and playing. He used to associate with actors, and
with an embroidered handkerchief round his head the effect was that of
a beautiful woman. Hence he acquired the sobriquet of the Beauty. At
fourteen years of age he graduated and began to make a name for
himself; but his father, who was growing old and wished to retire from
business, said to him, “My boy, book-learning will never fill your
belly or put a coat on your back; you had much better stick to the old
thing.” Accordingly, Ma from that time occupied himself with scales
and weights, with principle and interest, and such matters.