hide which is mentioned in the first book of the _Æneid_. In any case,
the substitution of “stretching” is no improvement on the celebrated
device by which the bull’s hide was made to enclose so large a space.
CI.
CARRYING A CORPSE.
A woodsman who had been to market was returning home with his pole
across his shoulder,[519] when suddenly he felt it become very heavy
at the end behind him, and looking round he saw attached to it the
headless trunk of a man. In great alarm, he got his pole quit of the
burden and struck about him right and left, whereupon the body
disappeared. He then hurried on to the next village, and when he
arrived there in the dusk of the evening, he found several men holding
lights to the ground as if looking for something. On asking what was
the matter, they told him that while sitting together a man’s head had
fallen from the sky into their midst; that they had noticed the hair
and beard were all draggled, but in a moment the head had vanished.
The woodsman then related what had happened to himself; and thus one
whole man was accounted for, though no one could tell whence he came.
Subsequently, another man was carrying a basket when some one saw a
man’s head in it, and called out to him; whereupon he dropped the
basket in a fright, and the head rolled away and disappeared.
FOOTNOTE:
[519] The common method of porterage in China is by a bamboo pole over
the shoulder with well-balanced burdens hanging from each end. I have
often seen children carried thus, sitting in wicker baskets; sometimes
for long journeys.
CII.
A TAOIST DEVOTEE.
Chü Yao-ju was a Ch‘ing-chou man, who, when his wife died, left his
home and became a priest.[520] Some years afterwards he returned,
dressed in the Taoist garb, and carrying his praying-mat[521] over his
shoulder; and after staying one night he wanted to go away again. His
friends, however, would not give him back his cassock and staff; so at
length he pretended to take a stroll outside the village, and when
there, his clothes and other belongings came flying out of the house
after him, and he got safely away.
FOOTNOTES:
[520] It would be more usual to “renew the guitar string,” as the
Chinese idiom runs. In the paraphrase of the first maxim of the
_Sacred Edict_ we are told that “The closest of all ties is that of
husband and wife; but suppose your wife dies, why, you can marry
another. But if your brother were to die,” &c., &c.
[521] This, as well as the staff mentioned below, belongs to Buddhism.
See No. IV., note 46.
CIII.
JUSTICE FOR REBELS.
During the reign of Shun Chih,[522] of the people of T‘êng-i, seven in
ten were opposed to the Manchu dynasty. The officials dared not touch
them; and subsequently, when the country became more settled, the
magistrates used to distinguish them from the others by always
deciding any cases in their favour: for they feared lest these men
should revert to their old opposition. And thus it came about that one
litigant would begin by declaring himself to have been a “rebel,”
while his adversary would follow up by shewing such statement to be
false; so that before any case could be heard on its actual merits, it
was necessary to determine the status both of plaintiff and defendant,
whereby infinite labour was entailed upon the Registrars.
Now it chanced that the yamên of one of the officials was haunted by a
fox, and the official’s daughter was bewitched by it. Her father,
therefore, engaged the services of a magician, who succeeded in
capturing the animal and putting it into a bottle; but just as he was
going to commit it to the flames, the fox cried out from inside the
bottle, “I’m a rebel!” at which the bystanders were unable to suppress
their laughter.
FOOTNOTE:
[522] The first Manchu ruler of the empire of China. He came to the
throne in A.D. 1644.
CIV.
THEFT OF THE PEACH.
When I was a little boy I went one day to the prefectural city.[523]
It was the time of the Spring festival,[524] and the custom was that
on the day before, all the merchants of the place should proceed with
banners and drums to the judge’s yamên: this was called “bringing in
the Spring.” I went with a friend to see the fun; the crowd was
immense, and there sat the officials in crimson robes arranged right
and left in the hall; but I was small and didn’t know who they were,
my attention being attracted chiefly by the hum of voices and the
noise of the drums. In the middle of it all, a man leading a boy with
his hair unplaited and hanging down his back, walked up to the dais.
He carried a pole on his shoulder, and appeared to be saying something
which I couldn’t hear for the noise; I only saw the officials smile,
and immediately afterwards an attendant came down, and in a loud
voice ordered the man to give a performance. “What shall it be?” asked
the man in reply; whereupon, after some consultation between the
officials on the dais, the attendant inquired what he could do best.
The man said he could invert the order of nature; and then, after
another pause, he was instructed to produce some peaches; to this he
assented; and taking off his coat, laid it on his box, at the same
time observing that they had set him a hard task, the winter frost not
having broken up, and adding that he was afraid the gentlemen would be
angry with him, &c., &c. His son here reminded him that he had agreed
to the task and couldn’t well get out of it; so, after fretting and
grumbling awhile, he cried out, “I have it! with snow on the ground we
shall never get peaches here; but I guess there are some up in heaven
in the Royal Mother’s garden,[525] and there we must try.” “How are we
to get up, father?” asked the boy; whereupon the man said, “I have the
means,” and immediately proceeded to take from his box a cord some
tens of feet in length. This he carefully arranged, and then threw one
end of it high up into the air where it remained as if caught by
something. He now paid out the rope which kept going up higher and
higher until the end he had thrown up disappeared in the clouds and
only a short piece was left in his hands. Calling his son, he then
explained that he himself was too heavy, and, handing him the end of
the rope, bid him go up at once. The boy, however, made some
difficulty, objecting that the rope was too thin to bear his weight up
to such a height, and that he would surely fall down and be killed;
upon which his father said that his promise had been given and that
repentance was now too late, adding that if the peaches were obtained
they would surely be rewarded with a hundred ounces of silver, which
should be set aside to get the boy a pretty wife. So his son seized
the rope and swarmed up, like a spider running up a thread of its web;
and in a few moments he was out of sight in the clouds. By-and-by down
fell a peach as large as a basin, which the delighted father handed up
to his patrons on the dais who were some time coming to a conclusion
whether it was real or imitation. But just then down came the rope
with a run, and the affrighted father shrieked out, “Alas! alas! some
one has cut the rope: what will my boy do now?” and in another minute
down fell something else, which was found on examination to be his
son’s head. “Ah me!” said he, weeping bitterly and shewing the head;
“the gardener has caught him, and my boy is no more.” After that, his
arms, and legs, and body, all came down in like manner; and the
father, gathering them up, put them in the box and said, “This was my
only son, who accompanied me everywhere; and now what a cruel fate is
his. I must away and bury him.” He then approached the dais and said,
“Your peach, gentlemen, was obtained at the cost of my boy’s life;
help me now to pay his funeral expenses, and I will be ever grateful
to you.” The officials who had been watching the scene in horror and
amazement, forthwith collected a good purse for him; and when he had
received the money, he rapped on his box and said, “Pa-pa‘rh! why
don’t you come out and thank the gentlemen?” Thereupon, there was a
thump on the box from the inside and up came the boy himself, who
jumped out and bowed to the assembled company. I have never forgotten
this strange trick, which I subsequently heard could be done by the
White Lily sect,[526] who probably got it from this source.[527]
FOOTNOTES:
[523] It is worth noting that the author professes actually to have
witnessed the following extraordinary scene.
[524] The vernal equinox, which would fall on or about the 20th of
March.
[525] A fabulous lady, said to reside at the summit of the K‘un-lun
mountain, where, on the border of the Gem Lake, grows the peach-tree
of the angels, the fruit of which confers immortality on him who eats
it.
[526] One of the most celebrated of the numerous secret societies of
China, the origin of which dates back to about A.D. 1350. Its members
have always been credited with a knowledge of the black art.
[527] Of Chinese jugglers, Ibn Batuta writes as follows:--“They
produced a chain fifty cubits in length, and in my presence threw one
end of it towards the sky, where it remained, as if fastened to
something in the air. A dog was then brought forward, and, being
placed at the lower end of the chain, immediately ran up, and reaching
the other end immediately disappeared in the air. In the same manner a
hog, a panther, a lion, and a tiger were alternately sent up the
chain, and all equally disappeared at the upper end of it. At last
they took down the chain, and put it into a bag, no one ever
discerning in what way the different animals were made to vanish into
the air in the mysterious manner above described. This, I may venture
to affirm, was beyond measure strange and surprising.”
_Apropos_ of which passage, Mr. Maskelyne, the prince of all
black-artists, ancient or modern, says:--“These apparent effects were,
doubtless, due to the aid of concave mirrors, the use of which was
known to the ancients, especially in the East, but they could not have
been produced in the open air.”
CV.
KILLING A SERPENT.
At Ku-chi island in the eastern sea, there were camellias of all
colours which bloomed throughout the year. No one, however, lived
there, and very few people ever visited the spot. One day, a young man
of Têng-chou, named Chang, who was fond of hunting and adventure,
hearing of the beauties of the place, put together some wine and food,
and rowed himself across in a small open boat. The flowers were just
then even finer than usual, and their perfume was diffused for a mile
or so around; while many of the trees he saw were several armfuls in
circumference. So he roamed about and gave himself up to enjoyment of
the scene; and by-and-by he opened a flask of wine, regretting very
much that he had no companion to share it with him, when all of a
sudden a most beautiful young girl, with extremely bright eyes and
dressed in red, stepped down from one of the camellias before
him.[528] “Dear me!” said she on seeing Mr. Chang; “I expected to be
alone here, and was not aware that the place was already occupied.”
Chang was somewhat alarmed at this apparition, and asked the young
lady whence she came; to which she replied that her name was
Chiao-ch‘ang, and that she had accompanied thither a Mr. Hai, who had
gone off for a stroll and had left her to await his return. Thereupon
Chang begged her to join him in a cup of wine, which she very
willingly did, and they were just beginning to enjoy themselves when a
sound of rushing wind was heard and the trees and plants bent beneath
it. “Here’s Mr. Hai!” cried the young lady; and jumping quickly up,
disappeared in a moment. The horrified Chang now beheld a huge serpent
coming out of the bushes near by, and immediately ran behind a large
tree for shelter, hoping the reptile would not see him. But the
serpent advanced and enveloped both Chang and the tree in its great
folds, binding Chang’s arms down to his sides so as to prevent him
from moving them; and then raising its head, darted out its tongue and
bit the poor man’s nose, causing the blood to flow freely out. This
blood it was quietly sucking up, when Chang, who thought that his last
hour had come, remembered that he had in his pocket some fox poison;
and managing to insert a couple of fingers, he drew out the packet,
broke the paper, and let the powder lie in the palm of his hand. He
next leaned his hand over the serpent’s coils in such a way that the
blood from his nose dripped into his hand, and when it was nearly full
the serpent actually did begin to drink it. And in a few moments the
grip was relaxed; the serpent struck the ground heavily with its
tail, and dashed away up against another tree, which was broken in
half, and then stretched itself out and died. Chang was a long time
unable to rise, but at length he got up and carried the serpent off
with him. He was very ill for more than a month afterwards, and even
suspected the young lady of being a serpent, too, in disguise.
FOOTNOTE:
[528] See No. LXXI., note 408.
CVI.
THE RESUSCITATED CORPSE.
A certain old man lived at Ts‘ai-tien, in the Yang-hsin district. The
village was some miles from the district city, and he and his son kept
a roadside inn where travellers could pass the night. One day, as it
was getting dusk, four strangers presented themselves and asked for a
night’s lodging; to which the landlord replied that every bed was
already occupied. The four men declared it was impossible for them to
go back, and urged him to take them in somehow; and at length the
landlord said he could give them a place to sleep in if they were not
too particular,--which the strangers immediately assured him they were
not. The fact was that the old man’s daughter-in-law had just died,
and that her body was lying in the women’s quarters, waiting for the
coffin, which his son had gone away to buy. So the landlord led them
round thither, and walking in, placed a lamp on the table. At the
further end of the room lay the corpse, decked out with paper robes,
&c., in the usual way; and in the foremost section were
sleeping-couches for four people. The travellers were tired, and,
throwing themselves on the beds, were soon snoring loudly, with the
exception of one of them, who was not quite off when suddenly he heard
a creaking of the trestles on which the dead body was laid out, and,
opening his eyes, he saw by the light of the lamp in front of the
corpse that the girl was raising the coverings from her and preparing
to get down. In another moment she was on the floor and advancing
towards the sleepers. Her face was of a light yellow hue, and she had
a silk kerchief round her head; and when she reached the beds she blew
on the other three travellers, whereupon the fourth, in a great
fright, stealthily drew up the bed-clothes over his face, and held his
breath to listen. He heard her breathe on him as she had done on the
others, and then heard her go back again and get under the paper
robes, which rustled distinctly as she did so. He now put out his head
to take a peep, and saw that she was lying down as before; whereupon,
not daring to make any noise, he stretched forth his foot and kicked
his companions, who, however, shewed no signs of moving. He now
determined to put on his clothes and make a bolt for it; but he had
hardly begun to do so before he heard the creaking sound again, which
sent him back under the bed-clothes as fast as he could go. Again the
girl came to him, and breathing several times on him, went away to lie
down as before, as he could tell by the noise of the trestles. He then
put his hand very gently out of bed, and, seizing his trousers, got
quickly into them, jumped up with a bound, and rushed out of the place
as fast as his legs would carry him. The corpse, too, jumped up; but
by this time the traveller had already drawn the bolt, and was outside
the door, running along and shrieking at the top of his voice, with
the corpse following close behind. No one seemed to hear him, and he
was afraid to knock at the door of the inn for fear they should not
let him in in time; so he made for the highway to the city, and after
awhile he saw a monastery by the roadside, and, hearing the “wooden
fish,”[529] he ran up and thumped with all his might at the gate. The
priest, however, did not know what to make of it, and would not open
to him; and as the corpse was only a few yards off, he could do
nothing but run behind a tree which stood close by, and there shelter
himself, dodging to the right as the corpse dodged to the left, and so
on. This infuriated the dead girl to madness; and at length, as tired
and panting they stood watching each other on opposite sides of the
tree, the corpse made a rush forward with one arm on each side in the
hope of thus grabbing its victim. The traveller, however, fell
backwards and escaped, while the corpse remained rigidly embracing the
tree. By-and-by the priest, who had been listening from the inside,
hearing no sounds for some time, came out and found the traveller
lying senseless on the ground; whereupon he had him carried into the
monastery, and by morning they had got him round again. After giving
him a little broth to drink, he related the whole story; and then in
the early dawn they went out to examine the tree, where they found the
girl fixed tightly to the tree. The news being sent to the magistrate,
that functionary attended at once in person,[530] and gave orders to
remove the body; but this they were at first unable to do, the girl’s
fingers having penetrated into the bark so far that her nails were not
to be seen. At length they got her away, and then a messenger was
despatched to the inn, already in a state of great commotion over the
three travellers, who had been found dead in their beds. The old man
accordingly sent to fetch his daughter-in-law; and the surviving
traveller petitioned the magistrate, saying, “Four of us left home,
but only one will go back. Give me something that I may show to my
fellow-townsmen.” So the magistrate gave him a certificate and sent
him home again.[531]
FOOTNOTES:
[529] This instrument, used by Buddhist priests in the musical
accompaniment to their liturgies, is said to be so called because a
fish never closes its eyes, and is therefore a fit model of vigilance
to him who would walk in the paths of holiness and virtue.
[530] The duties of Coroner belong to the office of a District
Magistrate in China.
[531] Without such certificate he would be liable to be involved in
trouble and annoyance at the will of any unfriendly neighbour.
CVII.
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS FRIEND.
In the northern parts of Tzŭ-chou there lived a man named Hsü, a
fisherman by trade. Every night when he went to fish he would carry
some wine with him, and drink and fish by turns, always taking care to
pour out a libation on the ground, accompanied by the following
invocation:--“Drink too, ye drowned spirits of the river!” Such was his
regular custom; and it was also noticeable that, even on occasions
when the other fishermen caught nothing, he always got a full basket.
One night, as he was sitting drinking by himself, a young man suddenly
appeared and began walking up and down near him. Hsü offered him a cup
of wine, which was readily accepted, and they remained chatting
together throughout the night, Hsü meanwhile not catching a single
fish. However, just as he was giving up all hope of doing anything,
the young man rose and said he would go a little way down the stream
and beat them up towards Hsü, which he accordingly did, returning in a
few minutes and warning him to be on the look-out. Hsü now heard a
noise like that of a shoal coming up the stream, and, casting his net,
made a splendid haul,--all that he caught being over a foot in length.
Greatly delighted, he now prepared to go home, first offering his
companion a share of the fish, which the latter declined, saying that
he had often received kindnesses from Mr. Hsü, and that he would be
only too happy to help him regularly in the same manner if Mr. Hsü
would accept his assistance. The latter replied that he did not
recollect ever meeting him before, and that he should be much obliged
for any aid the young man might choose to afford him; regretting, at
the same time, his inability to make him any adequate return. He then
asked the young man his name and surname; and the young man said his
surname was Wang, adding that Hsü might address him when they met as
Wang Liu-lang, he having no other name. Thereupon they parted, and the
next day Hsü sold his fish and bought some more wine, with which he
repaired as usual to the river bank. There he found his companion
already awaiting him, and they spent the night together in precisely
the same way as the preceding one, the young man beating up the fish
for him as before. This went on for some months, until at length one
evening the young man, with many expressions of his thanks and his
regrets, told Hsü that they were about to part for ever. Much alarmed
by the melancholy tone in which his friend had communicated this news,
Hsü was on the point of asking for an explanation, when the young man
stopped him, and himself proceeded as follows:--“The friendship that
has grown up between us is truly surprising; and, now that we shall
meet no more, there is no harm in telling you the whole truth. I am a
disembodied spirit--the soul of one who was drowned in this river
when tipsy. I have been here many years, and your former success in
fishing was due to the fact that I used secretly to beat up the fish
towards you, in return for the libations you were accustomed to pour
out. To-morrow my time is up: my substitute will arrive, and I shall
be born again in the world of mortals.[532] We have but this one
evening left, and I therefore take advantage of it to express my
feelings to you.” On hearing these words, Hsü was at first very much
alarmed; however, he had grown so accustomed to his friend’s society,
that his fears soon passed away; and, filling up a goblet, he said,
with a sigh, “Liu-lang, old fellow, drink this up, and away with
melancholy. It’s hard to lose you; but I’m glad enough for your sake,
and won’t think of my own sorrow.” He then inquired of Liu-lang who
was to be his substitute; to which the latter replied, “Come to the
river-bank to-morrow afternoon and you’ll see a woman drowned: she is
the one.” Just then the village cocks began to crow, and, with tears
in their eyes, the two friends bade each other farewell.
Next day Hsü waited on the river bank to see if anything would happen,
and lo! a woman carrying a child in her arms came along. When close to
the edge of the river, she stumbled and fell into the water, managing,
however, to throw the child safely on to the bank, where it lay
kicking and sprawling and crying at the top of its voice. The woman
herself sank and rose several times, until at last she succeeded in
clutching hold of the bank and pulled herself, dripping, out; and
then, after resting awhile, she picked up the child and went on her
way. All this time Hsü had been in a great state of excitement, and
was on the point of running to help the woman out of the water; but he
remembered that she was to be the substitute of his friend, and
accordingly restrained himself from doing so.[533] Then when he saw
the woman get out by herself, he began to suspect that Liu-lang’s
words had not been fulfilled. That night he went to fish as usual,
and before long the young man arrived and said, “We meet once again:
there is no need now to speak of separation.” Hsü asked him how it was
so; to which he replied, “The woman you saw had already taken my
place, but I could not bear to hear the child cry, and I saw that my
one life would be purchased at the expense of their two lives,
wherefore I let her go, and now I cannot say when I shall have another
chance.[534] The union of our destinies may not yet be worked out.”
“Alas!” sighed Hsü, “this noble conduct of yours is enough to move God
Almighty.”