stingy man. Once, when some repairs were necessary to the temple of
the God of War,[555] and rich and poor were subscribing as much as
each could afford, he alone gave nothing.[556] By-and-by the works
were stopped for want of funds, and the committee of management were
at a loss what to do next. It happened that just then there was a
festival in honour of the Frog-God, at which the magician suddenly
cried out, “General Chou[557] has given orders for a further
subscription. Bring forth the books.” The people all shouting assent
to this, the magician went on to say, “Those who have already
subscribed will not be compelled to do so again; those who have not
subscribed must give according to their means.” Thereupon various
persons began to put down their names, and when this was finished,
the magician examined the books. He then asked if Mr. Chou was
present; and the latter, who was skulking behind, in dread lest he
should be detected by the God, had no alternative but to come to the
front. “Put yourself down for one hundred taels,” said the magician to
him; and when Chou hesitated, he cried out to him in anger, “You could
give two hundred for your own bad purposes: how much more should you
do so in a good cause?” alluding to a scandalous intrigue of Chou’s,
the consequences of which he had averted by payment of the sum
mentioned. This put our friend to the blush, and he was obliged to
enter his name for one hundred taels, at which his wife was very
angry, and said the magician was a rogue, and whenever he came to
collect the money he was put off with some excuse.
Shortly afterwards, Chou was one day going to sleep, when he heard a
noise outside his house, like the blowing of an ox, and beheld a huge
frog walking leisurely through the front door, which was just big
enough to let it pass. Once inside, the creature laid itself down to
sleep, with its head on the threshold, to the great horror of all the
inmates; upon which Chou observed that it had probably come to collect
his subscription, and burning some incense, he vowed that he would pay
down thirty taels on the spot, and send the balance later on. The
frog, however, did not move, so Chou promised fifty, and then there
was a slight decrease in the frog’s size. Another twenty brought it
down to the size of a peck measure; and when Chou said the full
amount should be paid on the spot, the frog became suddenly no larger
than one’s fist, and disappeared through a hole in the wall. Chou
immediately sent off fifty taels, at which all the other subscribers
were much astonished, not knowing what had taken place. A few days
afterwards the magician said Chou still owed fifty taels, and that he
had better send it in soon; so Chou forwarded ten more, hoping now to
have done with the matter. However, as he and his wife were one day
sitting down to dinner, the frog reappeared, and glaring with anger,
took up a position on the bed, which creaked under it, as though
unable to bear the weight. Putting its head on the pillow, the frog
went off to sleep, its body gradually swelling up until it was as big
as a buffalo, and nearly filled the room, causing Chou to send off the
balance of his subscription without a moment’s delay. There was now no
diminution in the size of the frog’s body; and by-and-by crowds of
small frogs came hopping in, boring through the walls, jumping on the
bed, catching flies on the cooking-stove, and dying in the saucepans,
until the place was quite unbearable. Three days passed thus, and then
Chou sought out the magician, and asked him what was to be done. The
latter said he could manage it, and began by vowing on behalf of Chou
twenty more taels’ subscription. At this the frog raised its head, and
a further increase caused it to move one foot; and by the time a
hundred taels was reached, the frog was walking out of the door. At
the door, however, it stopped, and lay down once more, which the
magician explained by saying, that immediate payment was required; so
Chou handed over the amount at once, and the frog, shrinking down to
its usual size, mingled with its companions, and departed with them.
The repairs to the temple were accordingly completed, but for
“lighting the eyes,”[558] and the attendant festivities, some further
subscriptions were wanted. Suddenly, the magician, pointing at the
managers, cried out, “There is money short; of fifteen men, two of you
are defaulters.” At this, all declared they had given what they could
afford; but the magician went on to say, “It is not a question of what
you can afford; you have misappropriated the funds[559] that should
not have been touched, and misfortune would come upon you, but that,
in return for your exertions, I shall endeavour to avert it from you.
The magician himself is not without taint.[560] Let him set you a good
example.” Thereupon, the magician rushed into his house, and brought
out all the money he had, saying, “I stole eight taels myself, which I
will now refund.” He then weighed what silver he had, and finding that
it only amounted to a little over six taels, he made one of the
bystanders take a note of the difference. Then the others came forward
and paid up, each what he had misappropriated from the public fund.
All this time the magician had been in a divine ecstasy, not knowing
what he was saying; and when he came round, and was told what had
happened, his shame knew no bounds, so he pawned some of his clothes,
and paid in the balance of his own debt. As to the two defaulters who
did not pay, one of them was ill for a month and more; while the other
had a bad attack of boils.
FOOTNOTES:
[554] The chief supporters of superstition in China.
[555] See No. I., note 39.
[556] Such is one of the most common causes of hostile demonstration
against Chinese Christians. The latter, acting under the orders of the
missionaries, frequently refuse to subscribe to the various local
celebrations and processions, the great annual festivities, and
ceremonies of all kinds, on the grounds that these are idolatrous and
forbidden by the Christian faith. Hence bad feeling, high words, blows,
and sometimes bloodshed. I say “frequently,” because I have discovered
several cases in which converts have quietly subscribed like other
people rather than risk an _émeute_.
An amusing incident came under my own special notice not very long
ago. A missionary appeared before me one day to complain that a
certain convert of his had been posted in his own village, and cut off
from his civic rights for two years, merely because he had agreed to
let a room of his house to be used as a missionary _dépôt_. I took a
copy of the placard which was handed to me in proof of this statement,
and found it to run thus:--“In consequence of ---- having entered into
an agreement with a barbarian pastor, to lease to the said barbarian
pastor a room in his house to be used as a missionary chapel, we, the
elders of this village, do hereby debar ---- from the privilege of
worshipping in our ancestral hall for the space of two years.” It is
needless, of course, to mention that Ancestral Worship is prohibited
by all sects of missionaries in China alike; or that, when I pointed
this out to the individual in question, who could not have understood
the import of the Chinese placard, the charge was promptly withdrawn.
[557] An historical character who was formerly among the ranks of the
Yellow Turban rebels, but subsequently entered the service of Kuan Yü
(see No. I., note 39), and was canonized by an Emperor of the last
dynasty.
[558] This curious ceremony is the final touch to a newly-built or
newly-restored temple, and consists in giving expression to the eyes
of the freshly-painted idols, which have been purposely left blank by
the painter. Up to that time these blocks of clay or wood are not
supposed to have been animated by the spiritual presence of the deity
in question; but no sooner are the eyes lighted than the gratified God
smiles down upon the handsome decorations thus provided by devout and
trusting suppliants.
There is a cognate custom belonging to the ceremonies of ancestral
worship, of great importance in the eyes of the Chinese. On a certain
day after the death of a parent, the surviving head of the family
proceeds with much solemnity to dab a spot of ink upon the memorial
tablet of the deceased. This is believed to give to the departed
spirit the power of remaining near to, and watching over the fortunes
of, those left behind.
[559] Such indeed is the fate of a per-centage of all public
subscriptions raised and handled by Chinese of no matter what class. A
year or two ago an application was made to me for a donation to a
native foundling hospital at Swatow, on the ground that I was known as
a “read (Chinese) book man,” and that consequently other persons, both
Chinese and foreigners, might be induced to follow my example. On my
declining to do so, the manager of the concern informed me that if I
would only put down my name for fifty dollars, say £10, no call should
be made upon me for the money! Even in the matter of the funds
collected for the famine-stricken people of 1878, it is whispered that
peculation has been rife.
[560] The reader must recollect that these are the words of the God,
speaking from the magician’s body.
CXIV.
TAOIST MIRACLES.
At Chi-nan Fu there lived a certain priest: I cannot say whence he
came, or what was his name. Winter and summer alike he wore but one
unlined robe, and a yellow girdle about his waist, with neither shirt
nor trousers. He combed his hair with a broken comb, holding the ends
in his mouth, like the strings of a hat. By day he wandered about the
market-place; at night he slept in the street, and to a distance of
several feet round where he lay, the ice and snow would melt. When he
first arrived at Chi-nan he used to perform miracles, and the people
vied with each other in making him presents. One day a disreputable
young fellow gave him a quantity of wine, and begged him in return to
divulge the secret of his power; and when the priest refused, the
young man watched him get into the river to bathe, and then ran off
with his clothes. The priest called out to him to bring them back,
promising that he would do as the young man required; but the latter,
distrusting the priest’s good faith, refused to do so; whereupon the
priest’s girdle was forthwith changed into a snake, several spans in
circumference, which coiled itself round its master’s head, and glared
and hissed terribly. The young man now fell on his knees, and humbly
prayed the priest to save his life; at which the priest put his girdle
on again, and a snake that had appeared to be his girdle, wriggled
away and disappeared. The priest’s fame was thus firmly established,
and the gentry and officials of the place were constantly inviting him
to join them in their festive parties. By-and-by the priest said he
was going to invite his entertainers to a return feast;[561] and at
the appointed time each one of them found on his table a formal
invitation to a banquet at the Water Pavilion, but no one knew who had
brought the letters. However, they all went, and were met at the door
by the priest, in his usual garb; and when they got inside, the place
was all desolate and bare, with no banquet ready. “I’m afraid I shall
be obliged to ask you gentlemen to let me use your attendants,” said
the priest to his guests; “I am a poor man, and keep no servants
myself.” To this all readily consented; whereupon the priest drew a
double door upon the wall, and rapped upon it with his knuckles.
Somebody answered from within, and immediately the door was thrown
open, and a splendid array of handsome chairs, and tables loaded with
exquisite viands and costly wines, burst upon the gaze of the
astonished guests. The priest bade the attendants receive all these
things from the door, and bring them outside, cautioning them on no
account to speak with the people inside; and thus a most luxurious
entertainment was provided to the great amazement of all present.
Now this Pavilion stood upon the bank of a small lake, and every year,
at the proper season, it was literally covered with lilies; but, at
the time of this feast, the weather was cold, and the surface of the
lake was of a smoky green colour. “It’s a pity,” said one of the
guests, “that the lilies are not out”--a sentiment in which the others
very cordially agreed, when suddenly a servant came running in to say
that, at that moment, the lake was a perfect mass of lilies. Every one
jumped up directly, and ran to look out of the window, and, lo! it was
so; and in another minute the fragrant perfume of the flowers was
borne towards them by the breeze. Hardly knowing what to make of this
strange sight, they sent off some servants, in a boat, to gather a few
of the lilies, but they soon returned empty-handed, saying, that the
flowers seemed to shift their position as fast as they rowed towards
them; at which the priest laughed, and said, “These are but the lilies
of your imagination, and have no real existence.” And later on, when
the wine was finished, the flowers began to droop and fade; and
by-and-by a breeze from the north carried off every sign of them,
leaving the lake as it had been before.
A certain Taot‘ai,[562] at Chi-nan, was much taken with this priest,
and gave him rooms at his yamên. One day, he had some friends to
dinner, and set before them some very choice old wine that he had, and
of which he only brought out a small quantity at a time, not wishing
to get through it too rapidly. The guests, however, liked it so much
that they asked for more; upon which the Taot‘ai said, “he was very
sorry, but it was all finished.” The priest smiled at this, and said,
“I can give the gentlemen some, if they will oblige me by accepting
it;” and immediately inserted the wine-kettle[563] in his sleeve,
bringing it out again directly, and pouring out for the guests. This
wine tasted exactly like the choice wine they had just been drinking,
and the priest gave them all as much of it as they wanted, which made
the Taot‘ai suspect that something was wrong; so, after the dinner, he
went into his cellar to look at his own stock, when he found the jars
closely tied down, with unbroken seals, but one and all empty. In a
great rage, he caused the priest to be arrested for sorcery, and
proceeded to have him bambooed; but no sooner had the bamboo touched
the priest than the Taot‘ai himself felt a sting of pain, which
increased at every blow; and, in a few moments, there was the priest
writhing and shrieking under every cut,[564] while the Taot‘ai was
sitting in a pool of blood. Accordingly, the punishment was soon
stopped, and the priest was commanded to leave Chi-nan, which he did,
and I know not whither he went. He was subsequently seen at Nanking,
dressed precisely as of old; but on being spoken to, he only smiled
and made no reply.
FOOTNOTES:
[561] It is considered a serious breach of Chinese etiquette to accept
invitations without returning the compliment at an early date.
[562] A high Chinese official, known to foreigners as Intendant of
Circuit; the circuit being a circuit of Prefectures, over which he has
full control, subject only to the approval of the highest provincial
authorities. It is with this functionary that foreign Consuls rank.
[563] See No. XCIII., note 477.
[564] Of course only pretending to be hurt, the pain of the blows
being transferred by his magical art to the back of the Taot‘ai.
CXV.
ARRIVAL OF BUDDHIST PRIESTS.
Two Buddhist priests having arrived from the West,[565] one went to
the Wu-t‘ai hill, while the other hung up his staff[566] at T‘ai-shan.
Their clothes, complexions, language, and features, were very
different from those of our country. They further said they had
crossed the Fiery Mountains, from the peaks of which smoke was always
issuing as from the chimney of a furnace; that they could only travel
after rain, and that excessive caution was necessary to avoid
displacing any stone and thus giving a vent to the flames. They also
stated that they had passed through the River of Sand, in the middle
of which was a crystal hill with perpendicular sides and perfectly
transparent; and that there was a defile just broad enough to admit a
single cart, its entrance guarded by two dragons with crossed horns.
Those who wished to pass prostrated themselves before these dragons,
and on receiving permission to enter, the horns opened and let them
through. The dragons were of a white colour, and their scales and
bristles seemed to be of crystal. Eighteen winters and summers these
priests had been on the road; and of twelve who started from the west
together, only two reached China.[567] These two said that in their
country four of our mountains are held in great esteem, namely, T‘ai,
Hua, Wu-t‘ai, and Lo-chia. The people there also think that China[568]
is paved with yellow gold, that Kuan-yin and Wên-shu[569] are still
alive, and that they have only come here to be sure of their
Buddhahood and of immortal life. Hearing these words it struck me that
this was precisely what our own people say and think about the West;
and that if travellers from each country could only meet half way and
tell each other the true state of affairs, there would be some hearty
laughter on both sides, and a saving of much unnecessary trouble.
FOOTNOTES:
[565] That is, missionaries from India.
[566] See No. LVI., note 320.
[567] Much of the above recalls Fa Hsien’s narrative of his celebrated
journey from China to India in the early years of the fifth century of
our era, with which our author was evidently well acquainted. That
courageous traveller complained that of those who had set out with him
some had stopped on the way and others had died, leaving him only his
own shadow as a companion.
[568] This may almost be said to have been the belief of the Arabs at
the date of the composition of “The Arabian Nights.”
[569] For Kuan-yin, see No. XXXIII., note 208. Wên-shu, or Manjusiri,
is the God of Wisdom, and is generally represented as riding on a
lion, in attendance, together with P‘u-hsien, the God of Action, who
rides an elephant, upon Shâkyamuni Buddha.
CXVI.
THE STOLEN EYES.
When His Excellency Mr. T‘ang, of our village, was quite a child, a
relative of his took him to a temple to see the usual theatrical
performances.[570] He was a clever little fellow, afraid of nothing
and nobody; and when he saw one of the clay images in the vestibule
staring at him with its great glass[571] eyes, the temptation was
irresistible; and, secretly gouging them out with his finger, he
carried them off with him. When they reached home, his relative was
taken suddenly ill and remained for a long time speechless; at length,
jumping up he cried out several times in a voice of thunder, “Why did
you gouge out my eyes?” His family did not know what to make of this,
until little T‘ang told them what he had done; they then immediately
began to pray to the possessed man, saying, “A mere child,
unconscious of the wickedness of his act, took away in his fun thy
sacred eyes. They shall be reverently replaced.” Thereupon the voice
exclaimed, “In that case, I shall go away;” and he had hardly spoken
before T‘ang’s relative fell flat upon the ground and lay there in a
state of insensibility for some time. When he recovered, they asked
him concerning what he had said; but he remembered nothing of it. The
eyes were then forthwith restored to their original sockets.
FOOTNOTES:
[570] See No. XLVIII., note 277.
[571] The term here used stands for a vitreous composition that has
long been prepared by the Chinese. Glass, properly so called, is said
to have been introduced into China from the west, by a eunuch, during
the Ming dynasty.
CXVII.
THE INVISIBLE PRIEST.
Mr. Han was a gentleman of good family, on very intimate terms with a
skilful Taoist priest and magician named Tan, who, when sitting
amongst other guests, would suddenly become invisible. Mr. Han was
extremely anxious to learn this art, but Tan refused all his
entreaties, “Not,” as he said, “because I want to keep the secret for
myself, but simply as a matter of principle. To teach the superior
man[572] would be well enough; others, however, would avail themselves
of such knowledge to plunder their neighbours. There is no fear that
you would do this, though even you might be tempted in certain ways.”
Mr. Han, finding all his efforts unavailing, flew into a great
passion, and secretly arranged with his servants that they should give
the magician a sound beating; and, in order to prevent his escape
through the power of making himself invisible, he had his
threshing-floor[573] covered with a fine ash-dust, so that at any rate
his footsteps would be seen and the servants could strike just above
them.[574] He then inveigled Tan to the appointed spot, which he had
no sooner reached than Han’s servants began to belabour him on all
sides with leathern thongs. Tan immediately became invisible, but his
footprints were clearly seen as he moved about hither and thither to
avoid the blows, and the servants went on striking above them until
finally he succeeded in getting away. Mr. Han then went home, and
subsequently Tan reappeared and told the servants that he could stay
there no longer, adding that before he went he intended to give them
all a feast in return for many things they had done for him. And
diving into his sleeve he brought forth a quantity of delicious meats
and wines which he spread out upon the table, begging them to sit down
and enjoy themselves. The servants did so, and one and all of them got
drunk and insensible; upon which Tan picked each of them up and stowed
them away in his sleeve. When Mr. Han heard of this, he begged Tan to
perform some other trick; so Tan drew upon the wall a city, and
knocking at the gate with his hand it was instantly thrown open. He
then put inside it his wallet and clothes, and stepping through the
gateway himself, waved his hand and bade Mr. Han farewell. The city
gates were now closed, and Tan vanished from their sight. It was said
that he appeared again in Ch‘ing-chou, where he taught little boys to
paint a circle on their hands, and, by dabbing this on to another
person’s face or clothes, to imprint the circle on the place thus
struck without a trace of it being left behind upon the hand.
FOOTNOTES:
[572] The perfect man, according to the Confucian standard.
[573] A large, smooth, area of concrete, to be seen outside all
country houses of any size, and used for preparing the various kinds
of grain.
[574] Compare--“The not uncommon practice of strewing ashes to show
the footprints of ghosts or demons takes for granted that they are
substantial bodies.”--Tylor’s _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p. 455.
CXVIII.
THE CENSOR IN PURGATORY.
Just beyond Fêng-tu[575] there is a fathomless cave which is reputed
to be the entrance to Purgatory. All the implements of torture
employed therein are of human manufacture; old, worn-out gyves and
fetters being occasionally found at the mouth of the cave, and as
regularly replaced by new ones, which disappear the same night, and
for which the magistrate of the district makes a formal charge[576] in
his accounts.