STRANGE STORIES FROM A
CHINESE STUDIO
by P’u Sung-ling
Section 4
Title Page,
Table of Contents, and Introductions
Section 1:
Stories 1-25
Section 2:
Stories 26-57
Section 3:
Stories 58-103
CIV. THEFT OF THE PEACH
WHEN I was a little boy I went one day to the prefectural
city.1 It was the time of the Spring festival,2 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[3] and there we must try.” [p. 375]
“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, bade 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 showing 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, [p. 376] 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,4 who probably got it from this source.5
1 It is worth noting that the author professes actually to
have witnessed the following extraordinary scene.
2 The vernal equinox, which would fall on or about the
20th of March.
3 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 Gods, the fruit of which confers immortality on him who eats it. For her
identification with Juno, see Adversaria
Sinica, No. I, 1905.
4 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.
5 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.”
À propos 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 [p. 377] 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.[1] “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 by 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 [p. 378] 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.
1 See No. LXXI., note 6.
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 [p. 379] 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, showed 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,”[1] 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 [p. 380] 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, to which they found the girl tightly fixed.
The news being sent to the magistrate, that functionary
attended at once in person,2 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.3
1 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.
2 The duties of Coroner belong to the office of a District
Magistrate in China.
3 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 list, which he
accordingly did, returning in a few minutes and warning him to be on the [p. 381]
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. Tomorrow my time is up: my
substitute will arrive, and I shall be born again in the world of mortals.1 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 [p. 382] 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.2 Then when he saw the woman get
out by herself, [p. 383] 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.3 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.”
After this the two friends went on much as they had done
before, until one day Liu-lang again said he had come to bid Hsü farewell. Hsü
thought he had found another substitute, but Liu-lang told him that his former
behaviour had so pleased Almighty Heaven, that he had been appointed guardian
angel of Wu-chen, in the Chao-yüan district, and that on the following morning
he would start for his new post. “And if you do not forget the days of our
friendship,” added he, “I pray you come and see me, in spite of the long
journey.” “Truly,” replied Hsü, “you well deserved to be made a God; but the
paths of Gods and men lie in different directions, and even if the distance
were nothing, how should I manage to meet you again?” “Don’t be afraid on that
score,” said Liu-lang, “but come;” and then he went away, and Hsü returned
home.
The latter immediately began to prepare for the journey,
which caused his wife to laugh at him and say, “Supposing you do find such a place
at the end of that long journey, you won’t be able to hold a conversation with
a clay image.” Hsü, however, paid no attention to her remarks, and [p. 384]
travelled straight to Chao-yuan, where he learned from the inhabitants that
there really was a village called Wu-chên, whither he forthwith proceeded and
took up his abode at an inn.
He then inquired of the landlord where the village temple
was; to which the latter replied by asking him somewhat hurriedly if he was
speaking to Mr. Hsü. Hsü informed him that his name was Hsü, asking in reply
how he came to know it; whereupon the landlord further inquired if his native
place was not Tzu-chou. Hsü told him it it was, and again asked him how he knew
all this; to which the landlord made no answer, but rushed out of the room; and
in a few moments the place was crowded with old and young, men, women, and
children, all come to visit Hsü. They then told him that a few nights before
they had seen their guardian deity in a vision, and he had informed them that
Mr. Hsü would shortly arrive, and had bidden them to provide him with
travelling expenses, &c. Hsü was very much astonished at this, and went off
at once to the shrine, where he invoked his friend as follows:—“Ever since we
parted I have had you daily and nightly in my thoughts; and now that I have
fulfilled my promise of coming to see you, I have to thank you for the orders
you have issued to the people of the place. As for me, I have nothing to offer
you but a cup of wine, which I pray you accept as though we were drinking
together on the river-bank.” He then burnt a quantity of paper money,4 when lo!
a wind suddenly arose, which, after whirling round and round behind the shrine,
soon dropped, and all was still. That night Hsü dreamed that his friend came to
him, dressed in his official cap and robes, and very different in appearance
from what he used to be, and thanked him, saying, “It is truly kind of you to
visit me thus: I only regret that my position makes me unable to meet you face
to face, and that though near we are still so far. The people here will give
you a trifle, which pray accept for my sake; and when you go away, I will see
you a short way on your journey.”
A few days afterwards Hsü prepared to start, in spite of
the numerous invitations to stay which poured in upon him from all sides; and
then the inhabitants loaded him with presents of all kinds, and escorted him
out of the pillage. There a whirlwind arose and accompanied him several miles,
when he turned round [p. 385] and invoked his friend thus:—“Liu-lang, take care
of your valued person. Do not trouble yourself to come any farther.5 Your noble
heart will ensure happiness to this district, and there is no occasion for me
to give a word of advice to my old friend.” By-and-by the whirlwind ceased, and
the villagers, who were much astonished, returned to their own homes.
Hsü, too, travelled homewards, and being now a man of some
means, ceased to work any more as a fisherman. And whenever he met a Chao-yuan
man he would ask him about that guardian angel, being always informed in reply
that he was a most beneficent God. Some say the place was Shih-k’êng-chuang, in
Chang-ch’in: I can’t say which it was myself.
1 See No. XLV., note 8.
2 We have in this story the keynote to the notorious and
much-to-be-deprecated dislike of the Chinese people to assist in saving the
lives of drowning strangers. Some of our readers may, perhaps, not be aware
that the Government of Hong-Kong has found it necessary to insert a clause on
the junk-clearances issued in that colony, by which the junkmen are bound to
assist to the utmost in saving life. The apparent apathy of the Chinese in this
respect comes before us, however, in quite a different light when coupled with
the superstition that disembodied spirits of persons who have met a violent
death may return to the world of mortals if only fortunate enough to secure a
substitute. For among the crowd of shades, anxious all to revisit their “sweet
sons,” may perchance be some dear relative or friend of the man who stands
calmly by while another is drowning and it may be that to assist the drowning
stranger would be to take the longed-for chance away from one’s own kith and
kin. Therefore, the superstition-ridden Chinaman turns away, often perhaps, as
in the story before us, with feelings of pity and remorse. And yet this belief
has not prevented the establishment, especially on the river Yang-tsze, of
institutions provided with lifeboats, for the express purpose of saving life in
those dangerous waters; so true is it that when the Chinese people wish to move
en masse in any given direction, the
fragile barrier of superstition is trampled down and scattered to the winds.
3 As there are good and bad foxes, so may devils be
beneficent or malicious according to circumstances and Chinese apologists for
the discourtesy of the term “foreign devils,” as applied to Europeans and
Americans alike, have gone so far as to declare that in this particular
instance the allusion is to the more virtuous among the denizens of the
Infernal Regions.
4 See No. XCVII, note 7.
5 A phrase constantly repeated, in other terms, by a guest
to a host who is politely escorting him to the door.
CVIII. THE PRIEST’S WARNING
A MAN named Chang died suddenly, and was escorted at once
by devil-lictors[1] into the presence of the King of Purgatory. His Majesty
turned to Chang’s record of good and evil, and then, in great anger, told the
lictors they had brought the wrong man, and bade them take him back again. As
they left the judgment-hall, Chang persuaded his escort to let him have a look
at Purgatory; and, accordingly, the devils conducted him through the nine
sections,2 pointing out to him the Knife Hill,3 the Sword Tree, and other
objects of interest.
By-and-by, they reached a place where there was a Buddhist
priest, hanging suspended in the air head downwards, by a rope through a hole
in his leg. He was shrieking with pain, and longing for death; and when Chang
approached, lo! he saw that it was his own brother. In great distress, he asked
his guides the reason of this punishment; and they informed him that the priest
was suffering thus for collecting subscriptions on behalf of his order, and
then [p. 386] privately squandering the proceeds in gambling and debauchery.4
“Nor,” added they, “will he escape this torment unless he repents him of his
misdeeds.” When Chang came round,5 he thought his brother was already dead, and
hurried off to the Hsing-fu monastery, to which the latter belonged. As he went
in at the door, he heard a loud shrieking; and, on proceeding to his brother’s
room, he found him laid up with a very bad abscess in his leg, the leg itself
being tied up above him to the wall, this being, as his brother informed him,
the only bearable position in which he could lie. Chang now told him what he
had seen in Purgatory, at which the priest was so terrified, that he at once
gave up taking wine and meat,6 and devoted himself entirely to religious
exercises. In a fortnight he was well, and was known ever afterwards as a most
exemplary priest.
1 The spiritual lictors who are supposed to arrest the
souls of dying persons are also believed to be armed with warrants signed and
sealed in due form as in the world above.
2 Literally, the “nine dark places,” which will remind
readers of Dante of the nine “bolgie” of the Inferno.
3 This is a cliff over which sinners are hurled, to alight
upon the upright points of knives below. The branches of the Sword Tree are
sharp blades which cut and hack all who pass within reach.
4 Crimes by no means unknown to the clergy of China.
5 That is, when the lictors had returned his soul to its
tenement.
6 See No. VI.,
note 2.
CIX. METEMPSYCHOSIS
MR. LIN, who took his master’s degree in the same year as
the late Mr. Wên Pi,1 could remember what had happened to him in his previous
state of existence, and once told the whole story, as follows:—I was originally
of a good family, but, after leading a very dissolute life, I died at the age
of sixty-two. On being conducted into the presence of the King of Purgatory, he
received me civilly, bade me be seated, and offered me a cup of tea. I noticed,
however, that the tea in His Majesty’s cup was clear and limpid, while that in
my own was muddy, like the lees of wine. It then flashed across me that this
was the potion which was given to all disembodied spirits to render them
oblivious of the past:2 and, accordingly, when the King was looking [p. 387] the
other way, I seized the opportunity of pouring it under the table, pretending
afterwards that I had drunk it all up.
My record of good and evil was now presented for
inspection, and when the King saw what it was, he flew into a great passion,
and ordered the attendant devils to drag me away, and send me back to earth as
a horse. I was immediately seized and bound, and the devils carried me off to a
house, the door-sill of which was so high I could not step over it. While I was
trying to do so, the devils behind lashed me with all their might, causing me
such pain that I made a great spring, and—lo and behold! I was a horse in a
stable. “The mare has got a nice colt,” I then heard a man call out; but,
although I was perfectly aware of all that was passing, I could say nothing
myself. Hunger now came upon me, and I was glad to be suckled by the mare; and
by the end of four or five years I had grown into a fine strong horse,
dreadfully afraid of the whip, and running away at the very sight of it. When
my master rode me, it was always with a saddle cloth, and at a leisurely pace,
which was bearable enough; but when the servants mounted me barebacked, and dug
their heels into me, the pain struck into my vitals; and at length I refused
all food, and in three days I died.
Reappearing before the King of Purgatory, His Majesty was
enraged to find that I had thus tried to shirk working out my time; and,
flaying me forthwith, condemned me to go back again as a dog. And when I did
not move, the devils came behind me and lashed me until I ran away from them
into the open country, where, thinking I had better die right off, I jumped
over a cliff, and lay at the bottom unable to move. I then saw that I was among
a litter of puppies, and that an old bitch was licking and suckling me by
turns; whereby I knew that I was once more among mortals. In this hateful form
I continued for some time, longing to kill myself, and yet fearing to incur the
penalty of shirking.
At length, I purposely bit my master in the leg, and tore
him badly; whereupon he had me destroyed, and I was taken again into the
presence of the King, who was so displeased with my vicious behaviour that he
condemned me to become a snake, and shut me up in a dark room, where I could
see nothing. After a while I managed to climb up the wall, bore a hole [p. 388]
in the roof, and escape; and immediately I found myself lying in the grass, a
veritable snake. Then I registered a vow that I would harm no living thing, and
I lived for some years, feeding upon berries and suchlike, ever remembering
neither to take my own life, nor by injuring any one to incite them to take it,
but longing all the while for the happy release, which did not come to me. One day,
as I was sleeping in the grass, I heard the noise of a passing cart, and, on
trying to get across the road out of its way, I was caught by the wheel, and
cut in two. The King was astonished to see me back so soon, but I humbly told
my story, and, in pity for the innocent creature that loses its life, he
pardoned me, and permitted me to be born again at my appointed time as a human
being.
Such was Mr. Lin’s story. He could speak as soon as he
came into the world; and could repeat anything he had once read. In the year
1621 he took his master’s degree, and was never tired of telling people to put
saddle-cloths on their horses, and recollect that the pain of being gripped by
the knees is even worse than the lash itself.
1 In A.D. 1621.
2 According to the Yü
li ch’ao (see Appendix, l0th
Court), this potion is administered by an old beldame, named Mother Mêng, who
sits upon the Terrace of Oblivion. “Whether they swallow much or little it
matters not; but sometimes there are perverse devils who altogether refuse to
drink. Then beneath their feet sharp blades start up, and a copper tube is
forced down their throats, by which means they are compelled to swallow some.”
CX. THE FORTY STRINGS OF CASH
MR. JUSTICE WANG had a steward, who was possessed of
considerable means. One night the latter dreamt that a man rushed in and said
to him, “To-day you must repay me those forty strings of cash.” The steward
asked who he was; to which the man made no answer, but hurried past him into
the women’s apartments. When the steward awoke, he found that his wife had been
delivered of a son; and, knowing at once that retribution was at hand, he set
aside forty strings of cash to be spent solely in food, clothes, medicines, and
so on, for the baby. By the time the child was between three and four years
old, the steward found that of the forty strings only about seven hundred cash
remained; and when the wet-nurse, who happened to be standing by, brought the
child and dandled it in her arms before him, he looked at it and said, “The forty
strings are all but repaid; it is time you were off again.” Thereupon the child
changed colour; its head fell back, [p. 389] and its eyes stared fixedly, and,
when they tried to revive it, lo! respiration had already ceased. The father
then took the balance of the forty strings, and with it defrayed the child’s
funeral expenses—truly a warning to people to be sure and pay their debts.
Formerly, an old childless man consulted a great many
Buddhist priests on the subject. One of them said to him, “If you owe no one
anything, and no one owes you anything, how can you expect to have children? A
good son is the repayment of a former debt; a bad son is a dunning creditor, at
whose birth there is no rejoicing, at whose death no lamentations.”
1 And such is actually the prevalent belief in China to
this day.
CXI. SAVING LIFE
A CERTAIN gentleman of Shên-yu, who had taken the highest
degree, could remember himself in a previous state of existence. He said he had
formerly been a scholar, and had died in middle life; and that when he appeared
before the judge of Purgatory, there stood the cauldrons, the boiling oil, and
other apparatus of torture, exactly as we read about them on earth. In the
eastern corner of the hall were a number of frames from which hung the skins of
sheep, dogs, oxen, horses, &c.; and when anybody was condemned to reappear
in life under any one of these forms, his skin was stripped off and a skin was
taken from the proper frame and fixed on to his body. The gentleman of whom I
am writing heard himself sentenced to become a sheep; and the attendant devils
had already clothed him in a sheep’s skin in the manner above described, when
the clerk of the record informed the Judge that the criminal before him had
once saved another man’s life. The judge consulted his books, and forthwith
cried out, “I pardon him; for although his sins have been many, this one act
has redeemed them all.” The devils then tried to take off the sheep’s skin, but
it was so tightly stuck on him [p. 390] that they couldn't move it. However,
after great efforts, and causing the gentleman most excruciating agony, they
managed to tear it off bit by bit, though not quite so cleanly as one might
have wished. In fact, a piece as big as the palm of a man's hand was left near
his shoulder; and when he was born again into the world, there was a great
patch of hair on his back, which grew again as fast as it was cut off.
1 Note 2 to No. CVII, should be read here. To save life is
indeed the bounden duty of every good Buddhist, for which he will be
proportionately rewarded in the world to come.
CXII. THE SALT SMUGGLER
WANG SHIH, of Kao-wan, a petty salt huckster, was
inordinately fond of gambling. One night he was arrested by two men, whom he
took for lictors of the Salt Gabelle; and, flinging down what salt he had with
him, he tried to make his escape.1 He found, however, that his legs would not
move with him, and he was forthwith seized and bound. "We are not sent by
the Salt Commissioner," cried his captors, in reply to an entreaty to set
him free; "we are the devil-constables of Purgatory." Wang was
horribly frightened at this, and begged the devils to let him bid farewell to
his wife and children; but this they refused to do, saying, "You aren't
going to die; you are only wanted for a little job there is down below."
Wang asked what the job was; to which the devils replied, "A new Judge has
come into office, and, finding the river[2] and the eighteen hells choked up
with the bodies of sinners, he [p. 391] has determined to employ three classes
of mortals to clean them out. These are thieves, unlicensed founders,3 and
unlicensed dealers in salt, and, for the dirtiest work of all, he is going to
take musicians.”4
Wang accompanied the devils until at length they reached a
city, where he was brought before the Judge, who was sitting in his
judgment-hall. On turning up his record in the books, one of the devils
explained that the prisoner had been arrested for unlicensed trading; whereupon
the judge became very angry, and said, “Those who drive an illicit trade in
salt, not only defraud the State of its proper revenue, but also prey upon the
livelihood of the people. Those, however, whom the greedy officials and corrupt
traders of today denounce as unlicensed traders, are among the most virtuous of
mankind—needy unfortunates who struggle to save a few cash in the purchase of
their pint of salt.5 Are they your unlicensed traders?” The Judge then bade the
lictors buy four pecks of salt, and send it to Wang’s house for him, together
with that which had been found upon him; and, at the same time, he gave Wang an
iron scourge, and told him to superintend the works at the river.
So Wang followed the devils, and [p. 392] found the river
swarming with people like ants in an ant-hill. The water was turbid and red,
the stench from it being almost unbearable, while those who were employed in
cleaning it out were working there naked. Sometimes they would sink down in the
horrid mass of decaying bodies: sometimes they would get lazy, and then the
iron scourge was applied to their backs. The assistant-superintendents had
small scented balls, which they held in their mouths. Wang himself approached
the bank, and saw the licensed salt-merchant of Kao-wan[6] in the midst of it
all, and thrashed him well with his scourge, until he was afraid he would never
come up again. This went on for three days and three nights, by which time half
the workmen were dead, and the work completed; whereupon the same two devils
escorted him home again, and then he waked up.
As a matter of fact, Wang had gone out to sell some salt,
and had not come back. Next morning, when his wife opened the house door, she
found two bags of salt in the court-yard; and, as her husband did not return,
she sent off some people to search for him, and they discovered him lying
senseless by the wayside. He was immediately conveyed home, where, after a
little time, he recovered consciousness and related what had taken place.
Strange to say, the licensed salt-merchant had fallen down in a fit on the
previous evening, and had only just recovered; and Wang, hearing that his body
was covered with sores—the result of the beating with the iron scourge—went off
to his house to see him; however, directly the wretched man set eyes on Wang,
he hastily covered himself up with the bed-clothes, forgetting that they were
no longer at the infernal river. He did not recover from his injuries for a
year, after which he retired from trade.
1 Salt is a Government monopoly in China, and its sale is
only permitted to licensed dealers. It is a contraband article of commerce,
whether for impart or export, to foreign nations trading with China. In an
account of a journey from Swatow to Canton in March-April, 1877, I wrote:—
"À propos of salt, we came
across a good-sized bunker of it when stowing away our things in the space
below the deck. The boatmen could not resist the temptation of doing a little
smuggling on the way up. . . . At a secluded point in a bamboo-shaded bend of
the river, they ran the boat alongside the bank, and were instantly met by a
number of suspicious-looking gentlemen with baskets, who soon relieved them of
the smuggled salt and separated in different directions." Thus do the
people of China seek to lighten the grievous pressure of this tax. A curious
custom exists in Canton. Certain blind old men and women are allowed to hawk
salt about the streets, and earn a scanty living from the profits they are able
to make.
2 The Styx.
3 These words require some explanation. Ordinarily they
would be taken in the sense of casting cash
of a base description; but they might equally well signify the casting of iron
articles of any kind, and thereby hang some curious details. Iron foundries in
China may only be opened under license from the local officials, and the
articles there made, consisting chiefly of cooking utensils, may only be sold
within a given area, each district having its own particular foundries, from
which alone the supplies of the neighbourhood may be derived. Free trade in
iron is much feared by the authorities, as thereby pirates and rebels would be
enabled to supply themselves with arms. At the framing of the Treaty of
Tientsin, with its accompanying tariff and rules, iron was not specified among
other prohibited articles of commerce. Consequently, British merchants would
appear to have a full right to purchase iron in the interior and convey it to
any of the open ports under Transit-pass. But the Chinese officials steadily
refuse to acknowledge or permit the exercise of this right, putting forward
their own time-honoured custom with regard to iron, and enumerating the
disadvantages to China were such an innovation to be brought about.
4 The allusion is to women, of a not very respectable
class.
5 No Chinese magistrate would pass sentence upon a man who
stole food under stress of hunger, even if such a criminal were ever brought
before him.
6 His own village.
7 The whole story is meant as a satire upon the iniquity
of the Salt Gabelle. [p. 393]
CXIII. COLLECTING SUBSCRIPTIONS
THE FROG-GOD frequently employs a magician to deliver its
oracles to those who have faith. Should the magician declare that the God is
pleased, happiness is sure to follow; but if he says the God is angry, women
and children[1] sit sorrowfully about, and neglect even their meals. Such is
the customary belief, and it is probably not altogether devoid of foundation.
There was a certain wealthy merchant, named Chou, who was
a very stingy man. Once, when some repairs were necessary to the temple of the
God of War,2 and rich and poor were subscribing as much as each could afford,
he alone gave nothing.3 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 [p. 394] the magician suddenly cried out, “General
Chou[4] 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, [p. 395] 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,”5 and the attendant festivities, [p. 396] 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[6] 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.[7] 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.
1 The chief supporters of superstition in China.
2 See No. I., note 4.
3 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 many cases have come to light in which converts have
quietly subscribed like other people rather than risk an emeute.[A]
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 or was 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.
4 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 4), and was canonised by an Emperor of the last dynasty.
5 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.
6 Such indeed is the fate of a percentage of all public
subscriptions raised and handled by Chinese of no matter what class. An
application was once 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 subscribe, 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. What a blessing it is to live in
Christian England, where peculation and corruption are unknown!
7 The reader must recollect that these are the words of
the God, speaking from the magician’s body.
[A] A seditious tumult; an outbreak. [p. 397]
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 new 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; 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
[p. 398] 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,2 at Chi-non, 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 [p. 399] 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[3] 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,[4] 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-non, which he did, and I know not whither he
went. He was subsequently seen at Nan-king, dressed precisely as of old; but on
being spoken to, he only smiled and made no reply.
1 It is considered a serious breach of Chinese etiquette
to accept invitations without returning the compliment at an early date.
2 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.
3 See No. XCIII., note 3.
4 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. [p. 400]
CXV. ARRIVAL OF BUDDHIST PRIESTS
Two Buddhist priests having arrived from the West[1] one
went to the Wu-t’ai hill, while the other hung up his staff[2] 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.3 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[4] is paved with yellow gold, that
Kuan-yin and Wên-shu[5] 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 botd sides, and a saving of much unnecessary trouble.
1 That is, missionaries from India.
2 See No. LVI., note 10.
2 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.
4 This may almost be said to have been the belief of the
Arabs at the date of the composition of The
Arabian Nights.
5 For Kuan-yin, see No. XXXIII., note 7. Wên-shu, or Man-jusiri,
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. [p. 401]
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.l 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[2] 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.
1 See No. XLVIII., note 4.
2 The term here used stands for a vitreous composition
that has long been prepared by the Chinese. [p. 402]
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[1] 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[2] covered with a fine ash-dust,
so that at any rate his foot-steps would be seen and the servants could strike
just above them.3 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 [p. 403] 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.
1 The perfect man, according to the Confucian standard.
2 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.
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[1] 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[2] in his accounts.
Under the Ming dynasty, there was a certain Censor[3] [p. 404]
named Hua, whose duties brought him to this place; and hearing the story of the
cave, he said he did not believe it, but would penetrate into it and see for
himself. People tried to dissuade him from such an enterprise; however, he paid
no heed to their remonstrances, and entered the cave with a lighted candle in
his hand, followed by two attendants. They had proceeded about half a mile,
when suddenly the candle was violently extinguished, and Mr. Hua saw before him
a broad flight of steps leading up to the Ten Courts, or judgment-halls, in
each of which a judge was sitting with his robes and tablets all complete. On
the eastern side there was one vacant place; and when the judges saw Mr. Hua,
they hastened down the steps to meet him, and each one cried out, “So you have
come at last, have you? I hope you have been quite well since last we met.” Mr.
Hua asked what the place was; to which they replied that it was the Court of
Purgatory, and then Mr. Hua in a great fright was about to take his leave, when
the judges stopped him, saying, “No, no, Sir! that is your seat there; how can
you imagine you are to go back again?” Thereupon Mr. Hua was overwhelmed with
fear, and begged and implored the judges to forgive him; but the latter
declared they could not interfere with the decrees of fate, and taking down the
register of Life and Death they showed him that it had been ordained that on
such a day of such a month his living body would pass into the realms of
darkness. When Mr. Hua read these words he shivered and shook as if iced water
was being poured down his back, and thinking of his old mother and his young
children, his tears began to flow. At that juncture an angel in golden armour
appeared, holding in his hand a document written on yellow silk,4 before which
the judges all performed a respectful obeisance. They then unfolded and read
the document, which was nothing more or less than a general pardon from the
Almighty for the suffering sinners in Purgatory, by virtue of which Mr. Hua’s
fate would be set aside, and he would be enabled to return once more to [p. 405]
the light of day.
Thereupon the judges congratulated him upon his release,
and started him on his way home; but he had not got more than a few steps of
the way before he found himself plunged in total darkness. He was just
beginning to despair, when forth from the gloom came a God with a red face and
a long beard, rays of light shooting out from his body and illuminating the
darkness around. Mr. Hua made up to him at once, and begged to know how he
could get out of the cave; to which the God curtly replied, “Repeat the sutras of Buddha” and vanished instantly
from his sight. Now Mr. Hua had forgotten almost all the sutras he had ever known; however, he remembered a little of the
diamond sutra, and, clasping his
hands in an attitude of prayer, he began to repeat it aloud. No sooner had he done
this than a faint streak of light glimmered through the darkness, and revealed
to him the direction of the path; but the next moment he was at a loss how to
go on, and the light forthwith disappeared. He then set himself to think hard
what the next verse was, and as fast as he recollected and could go on
repeating, so fast did the light reappear to guide him on his way, until at
length he emerged once more from the mouth of the cave.
As to the fate of the two servants who accompanied him it
is needless to inquire.
1 Fêng-tu is a district city in the province of Szechuen,
and near it are said to be fire-wells, otherwise known as the entrance to
Purgatory, the capital city of which is also called Fêng-tu.
2 To the Imperial Treasury. From what I know of the
barefacedness of similar official impostures, I should say that this statement
is quite within the bounds of truth. For instance, at Amoy 1 per cent. is
collected by the local mandarins on all imports, ostensibly for the purpose of
providing the Imperial table with a delicious kind of bird’s nest said to be
found in the neighbourhood Seven-tenths of the sum thus collected is pocketed
by the various officials of the place, and with the remaining three-tenths a
certain quantity of the ordinary article of commerce is imported from the
Straits and forwarded to Peking.
3 See No. XXXII., note 4.
4 An imperial mandate is always written on yellow silk,
and the ceremony of opening and perusing it is accompanied by prostiations and
other acts of reverential submission.
CXIX. MR. WILLOW AND THE LOCUSTS
DURING the Ming dynasty a plague of locusts visited Ch‘ing-yen,
and was advancing rapidly towards the I district, when the magistrate of that
place, in great tribulation at the impending disaster, retired one day to sleep
behind the screen in his office. There he dreamt that a young graduate, named
Willow, wearing a tall hat and a green robe, and of very commanding stature,
came to see him, and declared that he could tell the magistrate how to get rid
of the locusts. “To-morrow,” said he, “on [p. 406] the south-west road, you
will see a woman riding[2] on a large jennet: she is the Spirit of the Locusts;
ask her, and she will help you.”
The magistrate thought this strange advice; however, he
got everything ready, and waited, as he had been told, at the roadside.
By-and-by, along came a woman with her hair tied up in a knot, and a serge cape
over her shoulders, riding slowly northwards on an old mule; whereupon the
magistrate burned some sticks of incense, and, seizing the mule’s bridle,
humbly presented a goblet of wine. The woman asked him what he wanted; to which
he replied, “Lady, I implore you to save my small magistracy from the dreadful
ravages of your locusts.” “Oho!” said the woman, “that scoundrel, Willow, has been
letting the cat out of the bag, has he? He shall suffer for it: I won’t touch
your crops.” She then drank three cups of wine, and vanished out of sight.
Subsequently, when the locusts did come, they flew high in
the air, and did not settle on the crops; but they stripped the leaves off
every willow-tree far and wide; and then the magistrate awaked to the fact that
the graduate of his dream was the Spirit of the Willows. Some said that this
happy result was owing to the magistrate’s care for the welfare of his people.
1 Innumerable pamphlets have been published in China on
the best methods of getting rid of these destructive insects, but none to my
knowledge contains much sound or practical advice.
2 See No. LII, note i. The mules of the North of China are
marvels of beauty and strength; and the price of a fine animal often goes as
high as £100.
CXX. MR. TUNG, OR VIRTUE REWARDED
AT Ch’ing-chou there lived a Mr. Tung, President of one of
the Six Boards, whose domestic regulations were so strict that the men and
women servants were not allowed to speak to each other.1 One day he caught a
slave-girl laughing and talking with one of his attendants, and gave them both
a sound rating. That night he retired to sleep, accompanied by his valet-de-chambre, in his library, the
door of which, as it was very hot weather, was left wide open. When the night
was far advanced, the valet was awakened by a noise at his master's bed: and,
opening [p. 407] his eyes, he saw, by the light of the moon, the attendant
above mentioned pass out of the door with something in his hand. Recognising
the man as one of the family, he thought nothing of the occurrence, but turned
round and went to sleep again.
Soon after, however, he was again aroused by the noise of
footsteps tramping heavily across the room, and, looking up, he beheld a huge
being with a red face and a long beard, very like the God of War,2 carrying a
man’s head. Horribly frightened, he crawled under the bed, and then he heard
sounds above him as of clothes being shaken out, and as if some one was being
shampooed.3 In a few moments, the boots tramped once more across the room and
went away; and then he gradually put out his head, and, seeing the dawn
beginning to peep through the window, he stretched out his hand to reach his
clothes. These he found to be soaked through and through, and, on applying his
hand to his nose, he smelt the smell of blood. He now called out loudly to his
master, who jumped up at once; and, by the light of a candle, they saw that the
bed-clothes and pillows were alike steeped in blood.
Just then some constables knocked at the door, and when
Mr. Tung went out to see who it was, the constables were all astonishment;
“for,” said they, “a few minutes ago a man rushed wildly up to our yamên, and
said he had killed his master; and, as he himself was covered with blood, he
was arrested, and turned out to be a servant of yours. He also declared that he
had buried your head alongside the temple of the God of War; and when we went
to look, there, indeed, was a freshly-dug hole, but the head was gone.” Mr.
Tung was amazed at all this story, and, on proceeding to the magistrate’s yamên,
he discovered that the man in charge was the attendant whom he had scolded the
day before. Thereupon, the criminal was severely bambooed and released; and
then Mr. Tung, who was unwilling to make an enemy of a man of this stamp, gave
him the girl to wife.
However, a few nights afterwards the people who lived next
door to the newly-married couple heard a terrific crash in their house, and,
rushing in to see what was the matter, found that husband and wife, and the
bedstead [p. 408] as well, had been cut clean in two as if by a sword. The ways
of the God are many, indeed, but few more extraordinary than this.4
1 See No. XL., note 2, and No. XCIV., note 3.
2 See No. I., note 4.
3 See No. LXIX., note 8.
4 It was the God of War who replaced Mr. Tung’s head after
it had actually been cut off and buried.
CXXI. THE DEAD PRIEST
A CERTAIN Taoist priest, overtaken in his wanderings by
the shades of evening, sought refuge in a small Buddhist monastery. The monk’s
apartment was, however, locked so he threw his mat down in the vestibule of the
shrine, and seated himself upon it. In the middle of the night, when all was
still, he heard a sound of some one opening the door behind him; and looking
round, he saw a Buddhist priest, covered with blood from head to foot, who did
not seem to notice that anybody else was present. Accordingly, he himself
pretended not to be aware of what was going on; and then he saw the other
priest enter the shrine, mount the altar, and remain there some time, embracing
Buddha’s head and laughing by turns.
When morning came, he found the monk’s room still locked;
and, suspecting something was wrong, he walked to a neighbouring village, where
he told the people what he had seen. Thereupon the villagers went back with
him, and broke open the door, and there before them lay the priest weltering in
his blood, having evidently been killed by robbers, who had stripped the place
bare.
Anxious now to find out what had made the disembodied
spirit of the priest laugh in the way it had been seen to do, they proceeded to
inspect the head of the Buddha on the altar; and, at the back of it, they
noticed a small mark, scraping through which they discovered a sum of over
thirty ounces of silver. This sum was forthwith used for defraying the: funeral
expenses of the murdered man. [p. 409]
CXXII. THE FLYING COW
A CERTAIN man, who had bought a fine cow, dreamt the same
night that wings grew out of the animal’s back, and that it had flown away.
Regarding this as an omen of some pending misfortune, he led the cow off to
market again, and sold it at a ruinous loss.
Wrapping up in a cloth the silver he received, he slung it
over his back, and was half-way home, when he saw a falcon eating part of a
hare.l Approaching the bird, he found it was quite tame, and accordingly tied
it by the leg to one of the corners of the cloth, in which his money was. The
falcon fluttered about a good deal, trying to escape; and, by-and-by, the man’s
hold being for a moment relaxed, away went the bird, cloth, money, and all. “It
was destiny,” said the man every time he told the story; ignorant as he was,
first, that no faith should be put in dreams;2 and, secondly, that people
shouldn’t take things they see by the wayside.3 Quadrupeds don’t usually fly.
1 See No. VI., note 1.
2 The highly educated Confucianist rises above the
superstition that darkens the lives of his less fortunate fellow countrymen.
Had such a dream as the above received an inauspicious interpretation at the
hands of some local soothsayer the owner of the animal would in nine cases out
of ten have taken an early opportunity of getting rid of it.
3 The Chinese love to refer to the “good old time” of
their fore-fathers, when a man who dropped anything on the highway would have
no cause to hurry back for fear of its being carried off by a stranger.
CXXIII. THE “MIRROR AND LISTEN” TRICK
AT I-tu there lived a family of the name of Cheng. The two
sons were both distinguished scholars, but the elder was early known to fame,
and, consequently, the favourite with his parents, who also extended their
preference to his wife. The younger brother was a trifle wild, which displeased
his father and mother very much, and made them regard his wife, too, with
anything but a friendly eye. [p. 410] The latter reproached her husband for
being the cause of this, and asked him why he, being a man like his brother,
could not vindicate the slights that were put upon her. This piqued him; and,
setting to work in good earnest, he soon gained a fair reputation, though still
not equal to his brother’s.
That year the two went up for the highest degree; and, on
New Year’s Eve, the wife of the younger, very anxious for the success of her
husband, secretly tried the “mirror and listen” trick.1 She saw two men pushing
each other in jest, and heard them say, “You go and get cool,” which remark she
was quite unable to interpret for good or for bad, so she thought no more about
the matter.
After the examination, the two brothers returned home; and
one day, when the weather was extremely hot, and their two wives were hard at
work in the cook-house, preparing food for their field-labourers, a messenger
rode up in hot haste[2] to announce that the elder brother had passed.
Thereupon his mother went into the cook-house, and, calling to her
daughter-in-law, said, “Your husband has passed; you go and get cool.” Rage and grief now filled the breast of the
second son’s wife, who, with tears in her eyes, continued her task of cooking,
when suddenly another messenger rushed in to say, that the second son had
passed too. At this, his wife flung down her frying-pan, and cried out, “Now
I’ll go and get cool;” and as in the
heat of her excitement she uttered these words, the recollection of her trial
of the “mirror and listen” trick flashed upon her, and she knew that the words
of that evening had been fulfilled.
1 One method is to wrap an old mirror (formerly a polished
metal disc) in a handkerchief, and then, no one being present, to bow seven
times towards the Spirit of the Hearth: after which the first words heard
spoken by any one will give a clue to the issue under investigation. Another
method is to close the eyes and take seven paces, opening them at the seventh
and getting some hint from the objects first seen in a mirror held in the hand,
coupled with the words first spoken within the experimenter’s hearing.
2 In former days, these messengers of good tidings to
candidates whose homes were in distant parts used to earn handsome sums if
first to announce the news; but now the telegraph has taken their occupation
from them. [p. 411]
CXXIV. THE CATTLE PLAGUE
CH‘ÊN HUA-FÊNG, of Mêng-shan, overpowered by the great
heat, went and lay down under a tree, when suddenly up came a man with a thick
comforter round his neck, who also sat down on a stone in the shade, and began
fanning himself as hard as he could, the perspiration all the time running off
him like a waterfall. Ch‘ên rose and said to him with a smile, “If, Sir, you
were to remove that comforter, you would be cool enough without the help of a
fan.” “It would be easy enough,” replied the stranger, “to take off my
comforter; but the difficulty would be in getting it on again.” He then went on
to converse generally upon other matters, in a manner which betokened
considerable refinement; and by-and-by he exclaimed, “What I should like now is
just a draught of iced wine to cool the twelve joints of my oesophagus.”1 “Come
along, then,” cried Ch‘ên, “my house is close by, and I shall be happy to give
you what you want.”
So off they went together; and Ch‘ên set before them some
capital wine, which he produced from a cave, cold enough to numb their teeth.
The stranger was delighted, and remained there drinking until late in the
evening, when, all at once, it began to rain. Ch‘ên lighted a lamp; and he and
his guest, who now took off the comforter, sat talking together in déshabille. Every now and again the
former thought he saw a light coming from the back of the stranger’s head; and
when at length he had gone off into a tipsy sleep, Ch‘ên took the light to
examine more closely. He found behind the ears a large cavity, partitioned by a
number of membranes, and looking like a lattice, with a thin skin hanging down
in front of each, the spaces being apparently empty. In great astonishment Ch‘ên
took a hair-pin, and inserted it into one of these places, when pff! out flew
something like a tiny cow, [p. 412] which broke through the window,2 and was
gone.
This frightened Ch‘ên, and he determined to play no more
tricks; just then, however, the stranger waked up. “Alas! “cried he, “you have
been at my head, and have let out the Cattle Plague. What is to be done now?”
Ch‘ên asked what he meant: upon which the stranger said, “There is no object in
further concealment. I will tell you all. I am the Angel of Pestilence for the
six kinds of domestic animals. That form which you have let out attacks oxen,
and I fear that, for miles round, few will escape alive.” Now Ch‘ên himself was
a cattle-farmer, and when, he heard this was dreadfully alarmed, and implored
the stranger to tell him what to do. “What to do! “replied he; “why, I shall
not escape punishment myself; how can I tell you what to do? However, you will
find powdered K’u-ts’an[3] an
efficacious remedy—that is, if you don’t keep it a secret for your private
use.”4 The stranger then departed, first of all piling up a quantity of earth
in a niche in the wall, a handful of which, he told Ch‘ên, given to each
animal, might prove of some avail.
Before long the plague did break out; and Ch‘ên, who was
desirous of making a little money by it, told the remedy to no one, with the
exception of his younger brother. The latter tried it on his own beasts with
great success; while, on the other hand, those belonging to Ch‘ên himself died
off, to the number of fifty head,5 leaving him only four or five old cows,
which showed every sign of soon sharing the same fate. In his distress, Ch‘ên suddenly
bethought himself of the earth in the niche; and, as a last resource, gave some
to the sick animals. By the next morning they were quite well, and then he knew
that his secrecy about the remedy had caused it to have no effect. From that
moment his stock went on increasing, and in a few years he had as many as ever.
1 Accurate anatomical descriptions must not be looked for
in Chinese literature. “Man has three hundred and sixty-five bones,
corresponding to the number of days it takes the heavens to revolve.” From the Hsi yüan lu, or Instructions to Coroners, Book I., ch. 12. See No. XIV., note 8.
2 See No. X., note 7.
3 Sophora flavescens,
Ait.
4 As the Chinese invariably do whenever they get hold of a
useful prescription or remedy. Master workmen also invariably try to withhold
something of their art from the apprentices they engage to teach.
5 The text has “of two hundred hoofs.” [p. 413]
CXXV. THE MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN GODDESS
AT Kuei-chi there is a shrine to the Plum Virgin, who was
formerly a young lady named Ma, and lived at Tung-wan. Her betrothed husband
dying before the wedding, she swore she would never marry, and at thirty years
of age she died. Her kinsfolk built a shrine to her memory, and gave her the
title of the Plum Virgin.
Some years afterwards, a Mr. Chin, on his way to the
examination, happened to pass by the shrine; and entering in, he walked up and
down thinking very much of the young lady in whose honour it had been erected.
That night he dreamt that a servant came to summon him into the presence of the
Goddess; and that, in obedience to her command, he went and found her waiting
for him just outside the shrine. “I am deeply grateful to you, Sir,” said the
Goddess, on his approach, “for giving me so large a share of your thoughts; and
I intend to repay you by becoming your humble handmaid.” Mr. Chin bowed an
assent; and then the Goddess escorted him back, saying, “When your place is
ready, I will come and fetch you.”
On waking in the morning, Mr. Chin was not over-pleased
with his dream; however, that very night every one of the villagers dreamt that
the Goddess appeared and said she was going to marry Mr. Chin, bidding them at
once prepare an image of him. This the village elders, out of respect for their
Goddess, positively refused to do; until at length they all began to fall ill,
and then they made a clay image of Mr. Chin and placed it on the left of the
Goddess.
Mr. Chin now told his wife that the Plum Virgin had come
for him; and, putting on his official cap and robes, he straight-way died.
Thereupon his wife was very angry; and, going to the shrine, she first abused
the Goddess, and then, getting on the altar, slapped her face well. The Goddess
is now called Chin’s virgin wife. [p. 414]
CXXVI. THE WINE INSECT
A MR. LIN of Ch’ang-span was extremely fat, and so fond of
wine that he would often finish a pitcher by himself. However, he owned about
fifty acres of land, half of which was covered with millet, and being well off,
he did not consider that his drinking would bring him into trouble. One day a
foreign Buddhist priest saw him, and remarked that he appeared to be suffering
from some extraordinary complaint. Mr. Lin said nothing was the matter with
him; whereupon the priest asked him if he often got drunk. Lin acknowledged
that he did; and the priest told him that he was afflicted by the wine insect.
“Dear me!” cried Lin, in great alarm, “do you think you could cure me?” The
priest declared there would be no difficulty in doing so; but when Lin asked
him what drugs he intended to use, the priest said he should not use any at
all.
He then made Lin lie down in the sun; and tying his hands
and feet together, he placed a stoup of good wine about half a foot from his
head. By-and-by, Lin felt a deadly thirst coming on; and the flavour of the
wine passing through his nostrils seemed to set his vitals on fire. Just then
he experienced a tickling sensation in his throat, and something ran out of his
mouth and jumped into the wine. On being released from his bonds, he saw that
it was an insect about three inches in length, which wriggled about in the wine
like a tadpole, and had mouth and eyes all complete. Lin was overjoyed, and
offered money to the priest, who refused to take it, saying all he wanted was
the insect, which he explained to Lin was the essence of wine, and which, on
being stirred up in water, would turn it into wine. Lin tried this, and found
it was so; and ever afterwards he detested the sight of wine.
He subsequently became very thin, and so poor that he had
hardly enough to eat and drink.2 [p. 415]
1 The ordinary “wine” of China is a spirit distilled from
rice. See No. XCIII., note 3.
2 The commentator would have us believe that Mr. Lin’s
fondness for wine was to him an element of health and happiness rather than a
disease to be cured, and that the priest was wrong in meddling with the natural
bent of his constitution.
CXXVII. THE FAITHFUL DOG
A CERTAIN man of Lu-ngan, whose father had been cast into
prison, and was brought almost to death’s door,[1] scraped together one hundred
ounces of silver, and set out for the city to try and arrange for his parent’s
release. Jumping on a mule, he saw that a black dog, belonging to the family,
was following him. He tried in vain to make the dog remain at home; and when,
after travelling for some miles, he got off his mule to rest awhile, he picked
up a large stone and threw it at the dog, which then ran off.
However, he was no sooner on the road again, than up came
the dog, and tried to stop the mule by holding on to its tail. His master beat
it off with the whip; whereupon the dog ran barking loudly in front of the
mule, and seemed to be using every means in its power to cause his master to
stop. The latter thought this a very inauspicious omen, and turning upon the
animal in a rage, drove it away out of sight.
He now went on to the city; but when, in the dusk of the
evening, he arrived there, he found that about half his money was gone. In a
terrible state of mind, he tossed about all night; then all of a sudden it
flashed across him that the strange behaviour of the dog might possibly have
some meaning; so getting up very early, he left the city as soon as the gates
were open,2 and though, from the number of passers-by, he never expected to
find his money again, he went on until he reached the spot where he had got off
his mule the day before. There he saw his dog lying dead upon the ground, its
hair having apparently been wetted through with [p. 416] perspiration;3 and,
lifting up the body by one of its ears, he found his lost silver. Full of
gratitude he bought a coffin and buried the dead animal; and the people now
call the place the Grave of the Faithful Dog.
1 In an entry on torture (see No. LXXIII., note 2) which
occurs in my Glossary of Reference I
made the following statement:—“The real tortures of a Chinese prison are the
filthy dens in which the unfortunate victims are confined, the stench in which
they have to draw breath, the fetters and manacles by which they are secured,
the absolute insufficiency even of the disgusting rations doled out to them, and
above all the mental agony which must ensue in a country with no Habeas corpus to protect the lives and
fortunes of its citizens.”
2 For a small bribe, the soldiers at the gates of a
Chinese city will usually pass people in and out by means of a ladder placed
against the wall at some convenient spot.
3 I believe it is with us only a recently determined fact
that dogs perspire through the skin.
CXXVIII. AN EARTHQUAKE
IN 1668 there was a very severe earthquake.[1] I myself
was staying at Chi-hsia, and happened to be that night sitting over a kettle of
wine with my cousin Li Tu. All of a sudden we heard a noise like thunder,
travelling from the south-east in a north-westerly direction. We were much
astonished at this, and quite unable to account for the noise; in another
moment the table began to rock, and the wine-cups were upset; the beams and
supports of the house snapped here and there with a crash, and we looked at
each other in fear and trembling. By-and-by we knew that it was an earthquake;
and, rushing out, we ,saw houses and other buildings, as it were, fall down and
get up again; and, amidst the sounds of crashing walls, we heard the shrieks of
women and children, the whole mass being like a great seething cauldron. Men
were giddy and could not stand, but rolled about on the ground; the river
overflowed its banks;. cocks crowed, and dogs barked from one end of the city
to the other.
In a little while the quaking began to subside; and then
might be seen men and women running half naked about the streets, all anxious
to tell their own experiences, and forgetting that they had on little or no
clothing. I subsequently heard that a well was closed up and rendered useless
by this earthquake that a house was turned completely round, so as to face the
opposite direction; that the Chi-hsia hill was riven open, and that the waters
of the I river flowed in and made a lake of an acre and more. Truly such an
earthquake as this is of rare occurrence.
1 The exact date is given—the 17th of the 6th moon, which
would probably fall towards the end of June. [p. 417]
CXXIX. MAKING ANIMALS
THE tricks for bewitching people are many. Sometimes drugs
are put in their food, and when they eat they become dazed, and follow the
person who has bewitched them. This is commonly called ta hsü pa; in Kiang-nan
it is known as ch’e hsü. Little
children are most frequently bewitched in this way. There is also what is
called “making animals,” which is better known on the south side of the River.1
One day a man arrived at an inn in Yang-chou, leading with
him five donkeys. Tying them up near the stable, he told the landlord he would
be back in a few minutes, and bade him give his donkeys no water. He had not
been gone long before the donkeys, which were standing out in the glare of the
sun, began to kick about, and make a noise; whereupon the landlord untied them,
and was going to put them in the shade, when suddenly they espied water, and
made a rush to get at it. So the landlord let them drink; and no sooner had the
water touched their lips than they rolled on the ground, and changed into
women. In great astonishment the landlord asked them whence they came; but
their tongues were tied, and they could not answer, so he hid them in his
private apartments, and at that moment their owner returned, bringing with him
five sheep. The latter immediately asked the landlord where his donkeys were;
to which the landlord replied by offering him some wine, saying, the donkeys
would be brought to him directly. He then went out and gave the sheep some water,
on drinking which they were all changed into boys. Accordingly, he communicated
with the authorities, and the stranger was arrested and forthwith beheaded.
1 See No. XCVIII., note 1. [p. 418]
CXXX CRUELTY AVENGED
A CERTAIN magistrate caused a petty oil-vendor, who was
brought before him for some trifling misdemeanour, and whose statements were
very confused, to be bambooed to death. The former subsequently rose to high
rank; and having amassed considerable wealth, set about building himself a fine
house. On the day when the great beam was to be fixed in its place,1 among the
friends and relatives who arrived to offer their congratulations, he was
horrified to see the oilman walk in. At the same instant one of the servants
came rushing up to announce to him the birth of a son whereupon, he mournfully
remarked, “The house not yet finished, and its destroyer already here.” The
bystanders thought he was joking, for they had not seen what he had seen.2
However, when that boy grew up, by his frivolity and extravagance he quite
ruined his father. He was finally obliged himself to go into service; and spent
all his earnings in oil, which he swallowed in large quantities.
1 This corresponds to our ceremony of laying the
foundation stone, except that one commemorates the beginning, the other the
completion, of a new building.
2 That is, the disembodied spirit of the oilman.
CXXXI. THE WEI-CH’I DEVIL
A CERTAIN general, who had resigned his command, and had
retired to his own home, was very fond of roaming about and amusing himself
with win and wei-ch‘i.[1] One [p. 419]
day—it was the 9th of the 9th moon, when everybody goes up high[2]—as he was
playing with some friends, a stranger walked up, and watched the game intently
for some time without going away. He was a miserable-looking creature, with a
very ragged coat, but nevertheless possessed of a refined and courteous air.
The general begged him to be seated, an offer which he accepted, being all the
time extremely deferential in his manner. “I suppose you are pretty good at
this,” said the general, pointing to the board; “try a bout with one of my
friends here.” The stranger made a great many apologies in reply, but finally
accepted, and played a game in which, apparently to his great disappointment,
he was beaten. He played another with the same result; and now, refusing all
offers of wine, he seemed to think of nothing but how to get some one to play
with him.
Thus he went on until the afternoon was well advanced;
when suddenly, just as he was in the middle of a most exciting game, which
depended on a single place, he rushed forward, and throwing himself at the feet
of the general, loudly implored his protection. The general did not know what
to make of this; however, he raised him up, and said, “It’s only a game: why
get so excited?” To this the stranger replied by begging the general not to let
his gardener seize him; and when the general asked what gardener he meant, he
said the man’s name was Ma-ch‘êng. Now this Ma-ch‘êng was often employed as a
lictor by the Ruler of Purgatory, and would sometimes remain away as much as
ten days, serving the warrants of death; accordingly, the general sent off to
inquire about him, and found that he had been in a trance for two days.3 His
master cried out that he had better not behave rudely to his guest, but at that
very moment the stranger sank down to the ground, and was gone.
The general was lost in astonishment; however, he now knew
that the man was a disembodied spirit, and on the next day, when Ma-ch’êng came
round, he asked him for full particulars. “The gentleman was a native of [p.
420] Hu-hsiang,” replied the gardener, “who was passionately addicted to wei-ch‘i, and had lost a great deal of
money by it. His father, being much grieved at his behaviour, confined him to
the house; but he was always getting out, and indulging the fatal passion, and
at last his father died of a broken heart. In consequence of this, the Ruler of
Purgatory curtailed his term of life, and condemned him to become a hungry
devil,4 in which state he has already passed seven years. And now that the
Phoenix Tower[5] is completed, an order has been issued for the literati to
present themselves, and compose an inscription to be cut on stone, as a
memorial thereof, by which means they would secure their own salvation as a
reward. Many of the shades failing to arrive at the appointed time, God was
very angry with the Ruler of Purgatory, and the latter sent me off, and others
who are employed in the same way, to hunt up the defaulters. But as you, Sir, bade
me treat the gentleman with respect, I did not venture to bind him.” The
general inquired what had become of the stranger; to which the gardener
replied, “He is now a mere menial in Purgatory, and can never be born again.”
“Alas!” cried his master, “thus it is that men are ruined by any inordinate
passion.”6
1 A most abstruse and complicated game of skill for which
the Chinese claim an antiquity of four thousand years, and which I was the
first to introduce to a European public through an article in the Temple Bar Magazine for January 1877. A propos of which, an accomplished
American lady, Miss A. M. Fielde, of Swatow, wrote as follows:—“The game seems
to me the peer of chess. . . . It is a game for the slow, persistent, astute,
multitudinous Chinese; while chess, by the picturesque appearance of the board,
the variety and prominent individuality of the men, and the erratic combination
of the attack,—is for the Anglo-Saxon.”
2 On this day, annually dedicated to kite-flying, picnics,
and good cheer, everybody tries to get up to as great an elevation as possible,
in the hope, as some say, of thereby prolonging life. It was this day—4th
October, 1878—which was fixed for the total extermination of foreigners in
Foochow.
3 See No. XXVI., note 3.
4 One of the prêtas,
or the fourth of the six paths (gati)
of existence, the other five being (1) angels, (2) men, (3) demons, (5) brute
beasts, and (6) sinners in hell. The term is often used colloquially for a
self-invited guest.
5 An imaginary building in the Infernal Regions.
6 Mencius reckoned “to play wei-ch‘i for money” among the five unfilial acts.
CXXXII. THE FORTUNE-HUNTER PUNISHED
A CERTAIN man’s uncle had no children and the nephew, with
an eye to his uncle’s property, volunteered to become his adopted son.1 When
the uncle died all the property passed accordingly to his nephew, who thereupon
broke faith as to his part of the contract.2 He did the same with [p. 421] another
uncle, and thus united three properties in his own person, whereby he became
the richest man of the neighbourhood.
Suddenly he fell ill, and seemed to go out of his mind;
for he cried out, “So you wish to live in wealth, do you?” and immediately
seizing a sharp knife, he began hacking away at his own body until he had
strewed the floor with pieces of flesh. He then exclaimed, “You cut off other
people’s posterity and expect to have posterity yourself, do you?” and
forthwith he ripped himself open and died. Shortly afterwards his son, too,
died, and the property fell into the hands of strangers. Is not this a
retribution to be dreaded?
1 See No. LV., note 9 and No. XCIV., note 6.
2 That is, in carrying out the obligations he had entered
into, such as conducting the ceremonies of ancestral worship, repairing the
family tombs, &c.
CXXXIII. LIFE PROLONGED
A CERTAIN cloth merchant of Ch‘ang-ch‘ing was stopping at
T’ai-ngan, when he heard of a magician who was said to be very skilled in
casting nativities. So he went off at once to consult him; but the magician
would not undertake the task, saying, “Your destiny is bad: you had better
hurry home.” At this the merchant was dreadfully frightened, and, packing up
his wares, set off towards Ch‘ang-ch‘ing.
On the way he fell in with a man in short clothes,l like a
constable; and the two soon struck up a friendly intimacy, taking their meals
together. By-and-by the merchant asked the stranger what his business was; and
the latter told him he was going to Ch‘ang-ch‘ing to serve summonses, producing
at the same time a document and showing it to the merchant, who, on looking
closely, saw a list of names, at the head of which was his own. In great
astonishment he inquired what he had done that he should be arrested thus; to
which his companion replied, “I am not a living being: I am a lictor in the
employ of the infernal authorities, and I presume your term of life has
expired.” The merchant burst into [p. 423] tears and implored the lictor to
spare him, which the latter declared was impossible; “But,” added he, “there
are a great many names down, and it will take me some time to get through them:
you go off home and settle up your affairs, and, as a slight return for your
friendship, I’ll call for you last.”
A few minutes afterwards they reached a stream where the
bridge was in ruins, and people could only cross with great difficulty; at
which the lictor remarked, “You are now on the road to death, and not a single
cash can you carry away with you. Repair this bridge and benefit the public;
and thus from a great outlay you may possibly yourself derive some small
advantage.” The merchant said he would do so; and when he got home, he bade his
wife and children prepare for his coming dissolution, and at the same time set
men to work and made the bridge sound and strong again.
Some time elapsed, but no lictor arrived; and his
suspicions began to be aroused, when one day the latter walked in and said, “I
reported that affair of the bridge to the Municipal God,2 who communicated it
to the Ruler of Purgatory; and for that good act your span of life has been
lengthened, and your name struck out of the list. I have now come to announce
this to you.” The merchant was profuse in his thanks; and the next time he went
to T’ai-ngan, he burnt a quantity of paper ingots,3 and made offerings and
libations to the lictor, out of gratitude for what he had done.
Suddenly the lictor himself appeared and cried out, “Do
you wish to ruin me? Happily my new master has only just taken up his post, and
he has not noticed this, or where should I be?”4 The lictor then escorted the
merchant some distance; and, at parting, bade him never return by that road,
but, if he had any business at T’ai-ngan, to go thither by a roundabout way.
1 The long flowing robe is a sign of respectability which
all but the very poorest classes love to affect in public. At the port of
Haiphong, shoes are the criterion of
social standing; but, as a rule, the well-to-do native merchants prefer to go
barefoot rather than give the authorities a chance of exacting heavier
squeezes, on the strength of such a palpable acknowledgment of wealth.
2 See No. I., note 1.
3 See No. LVI., note 7 and No. XCVII., note 7.
4 The lictor had no right to divulge his errand when he
first met the cloth merchant, or to remove the latter’s name from the top to
the bottom of the list.
CXXXIV. THE CLAY IMAGE
ON the river I there lived a man named Ma, who married a
wife from the Wang family, with whom he was very happy in his domestic life.
Ma, however, died young; and his wife’s parents were unwilling that their
daughter should remain a widow, but she resisted all their importunities, and
declared firmly she would never marry again. “It is a noble resolve of yours, I
allow,” argued her mother; “but you are still a mere girl, and you have no
children. Besides, I notice that people who start with such rigid
determinations always end by doing something discreditable, and therefore you
had better get married as soon as you can, which is no more than is done every
day.” The girl swore she would rather die than consent, and accordingly her
mother had no alternative but to let her alone.
She then ordered a clay image to be made, exactly
resembling her late husband;[1] and whenever she took her own meals, she would
set meat and wine before it, precisely as if her husband had been there. One
night she was on the point of retiring to rest, when suddenly she saw the clay
image stretch itself and step down from the table, increasing all the while in
height, until it was as tall as a man, and neither more nor less than her own
husband. In great alarm she called out to her mother, but the image stopped
her, saying, “Don’t do that! I am but showing my gratitude for your
affectionate care of me, and it is chill and uncomfortable in the realms below.
Such devotion as yours casts its light back on generations gone by; and now I,
who was cut off in my prime because my father did evil, and was condemned to be
without an heir, have been permitted, in consequence of your virtuous conduct,
to visit you once again, that our ancestral line may yet remain unbroken.”2 Every morning at cock-crow her husband resumed
his [p. 424] usual form and size as the clay image; and after a time he told
her that their hour of separation had come, upon which husband and wife bade
each other an eternal farewell.
By-and-by the widow, to the great astonishment of her
mother, bore a son, which caused no small amusement among the neighbours who
heard the story; and, as the girl herself had no proof of what she stated to be
the case, a certain beadle[3] of the place, who had an old grudge against her
husband, went off and informed the magistrate of what had occurred. After some
investigation, the magistrate exclaimed, “I have heard that the children of
disembodied spirits have no shadow; and that those who have shadows are not
genuine.” Thereupon they took Ma’s child into the sunshine, and lo there was
but a very faint shadow, like a thin vapour. The magistrate then drew blood
from the child, and smeared it on the clay image; upon which the blood at once
soaked in and left no stain. Another clay image being produced and the same
experiment tried, the blood remained on the surface so that it could be wiped
away.4
The girl’s story was thus acknowledged to be true; and
when the child grew up, and in every feature was the counterpart of Ma, there
was no longer any room for suspicion.
1 The clay image makers of Tientsin are wonderfully clever
in taking likenesses by these means. Some of the most skilful will even
manipulate the clay behind their backs, and then, adding the proper colours,
will succeed in producing an exceedingly good resemblance. They find, however,
more difficulty with foreign faces, to which they are less accustomed in the
trade.
2 See No. LXI., note 3.
3 See No. LXIV., note 2.
4 Such is the officially authorised method of determining
a doubtful relationship between a dead parent and a living child, substituting
a bone for the clay image here mentioned.
CXXXV. DISHONESTY PUNISHED
AT Chiao-chou there lived a man named Liu Hsi-ch‘uan, who
was steward to His Excellency Mr. Fa. When already over forty a son was born to
him, whom he loved very dearly, and quite spoilt by always letting him have his
own way. When the boy grew up he led a dissolute, extravagant life, and ran
through all his father’s property. By-and-by he fell sick, and then he declared
that nothing would cure him but a slice off a fat old favourite mule they had;
upon which his father had another and more worthless animal killed; but his son
found out he was being tricked, and, after abusing his father soundly, his
symptoms became more and more alarming. The mule was [p. 425] accordingly
killed, and some of it was served up to the sick man; however, he only just
tasted it and sent the rest away. From that time he got gradually worse and
worse, and finally died, to the great grief of his father, who would gladly
have died too.
Three or four years afterwards, as some of the villagers
were worshipping on Mount Tai, they saw a man riding on a mule, the very image
of Mr. Liu’s dead son; and, on approaching more closely, they saw that it was
actually he.1 Jumping from his mule,2 he made them a salutation, and then they
began to chat with him on various subjects, always carefully avoiding that one
of his own death. They asked him what he was doing there; to which he replied
that he was only roaming about, and inquired of them in his turn at what inn
they were staying; “For,” added he, “I have an engagement just now, but I will
visit you to-morrow.” So they told him the name of the inn, and took their
leave, not expecting to see him again.
However, the next day he came, and, tying his mule to a
post outside, went in to see them. “Your father,” observed one of the
villagers, “is always thinking about you. Why do you not go and pay him a visit?”
The young man asked to whom he was alluding; and, at the mention of his
father’s name, he changed colour and said, “If he is anxious to see me, kindly
tell him that on the 7th of the 4th moon I will await him here.” He then went
away, and the villagers returned and told Mr. Liu all that had taken place.
At the appointed time the latter was very desirous of
going to see his son; but his master dissuaded him, saying that he thought from
what he knew of his son that the interview might possibly not turn out as he
would desire; “Although,” added he, “if you are bent upon going, I should be
sorry to stand in your way. Let me, however, counsel you to conceal yourself in
a cupboard, and thus, by observing what takes place, you will know better how
to act, and avoid running into any danger.”
This he accordingly did, and, when his son came, Mr. [p. 426]
Fa received him at the inn. “Where’s Mr. Liu?” cried the son, “Oh, he hasn’t
come,” replied Mr. Fa. “The old beast! What does he mean by that?” exclaimed
his son; whereupon Mr. Fa asked him what he meant by cursing his own father.
“My father!” shrieked the son; “why, he’s nothing more to me than a former
rascally partner in trade, who cheated me out of all my money, and for which I
have since avenged myself on him.3 What sort of a father is that, I should like
to know?” He then went out of the door; and his father crept out of the
cupboard from which, with the perspiration streaming down him and hardly daring
to breathe, he had heard all that had passed, and sorrowfully wended his way
home again.
1 “In various savage superstitions the minute resemblance
of soul to body is forcibly stated.”—Myths
and Myth-makers, by John Fiske, p. 228.
2 An important point in Chinese etiquette. It is not
considered polite for a person in a sitting position to address an equal who is
standing.
3 By becoming his son and behaving badly to him. See No.
CX., note 1, and the text to which it refers.
CXXXVI. THE MAD PRIEST
A CERTAIN mad priest, whose name I do not know, lived in a
temple on the hills. He would sing and cry by turns, without any apparent
reason; and once somebody saw him boiling a stone for his dinner. At the autumn
festival of the 9th day of the 9th moon,[l] an official of the district went up
in that direction for the usual picnic, taking with him his chair and his red
umbrellas. After luncheon he was passing by the temple, and had hardly reached
the door, when out rushed the priest, barefooted and ragged, and, himself
opening a yellow umbrella, cried out as the attendants of a mandarin do when
ordering the people to stand back. He then approached the official, and made as
though he were jesting at him; at which the latter was extremely indignant, and
bade his servants drive the priest away. The priest moved off with the servants
after him, and in another moment had thrown down his yellow umbrella, which
split into a number of pieces, each piece changing immediately into a falcon,
and flying about in all directions. The umbrella handle became a huge serpent,
with red scales and glaring eyes; and then the party would have turned and
fled, but that one of them declared [p. 427] it was only an optical delusion,
and that the creature couldn’t do any hurt. The speaker accordingly seized a knife
and rushed at the serpent, which forthwith opened its mouth and swallowed its
assailant whole. In a terrible fright the servants crowded round their master
and hurried him away, not stopping to draw breath until they were fully a mile
off.
By-and-by several of them stealthily returned to see what
was going on; and, on entering the temple, they found that both priest and
serpent had disappeared. But from an old ash-tree hard by they heard a sound
proceeding,—a sound, as it were, of a donkey panting; and at first they were
afraid to go near, though after a while they ventured to peep through a hole in
the tree, which was an old hollow trunk; and there, jammed hard and fast with
his head downwards, was the rash assailant of the serpent. It being quite
impossible to drag him out, they began at once to cut the tree away but by the
time they had set him free he was already perfectly unconscious. However, he
ultimately came round and was carried home; but from this day the priest was
never seen again.2
1 See No. CXXXI., note 2.
2 The story is intended as a satire on those puffed-up
dignitaries who cannot even go to a picnic without all the retinue belonging to
their particular rank. See No. LVI., note 5.
CXXXVII. FEASTING THE RULER OF PURGATORY
AT Ching-hai there lived a young man, named Shao, whose
family was very poor. On the occasion of his mother completing her cycle,l he
arranged a quantity of meat-offerings and wine on a table in the court-yard,
and proceeded to invoke the Gods in the usual manner; but when he rose from his
knees, lo and behold! all the meat and wine had disappeared. His mother thought
this was a bad omen, and that she was not destined to enjoy a long life;
however, she said nothing on the subject to her son, who was himself quite at a
loss to account for what had happened.
A short time afterwards the Literary Chancellor[2]
arrived; and young Shao, scraping together [p. 428] what funds he could, went
off to present himself as a candidate. On the road he met with a man who gave
him such a cordial invitation to his house that he willingly accepted and the
stranger led him to a stately mansion, with towers and terraces rising one
above the other as far as the eye could reach. ln one of the apartments was a
king, sitting upon a throne, who received Shao in a very friendly manner; and,
after regaling him with an excellent banquet, said, “I have to thank you for
the food and drink you gave my servants that day we passed your house.” Shao
was greatly astonished at this remark, when the King proceeded, “I am the Ruler
of Purgatory. Don’t you recollect sacrificing on your mother’s birthday?” The
King then bestowed on Shao a packet of silver, saying, “Pray accept this in
return for your kindness.” Shao thanked him and retired; and in another moment
the palace and its occupants had one and all vanished from his sight, leaving
him alone in the midst of some tall trees.
On opening his packet he found it to contain five ounces
of pure gold; and, after defraying the expenses of his examination, half was
still left, which he carried home and gave to his mother.
1 See No. XXIII., note 8.
2 The examiner for the bachelor’s, or lowest, degree.
CXXXVIII. THE PICTURE HORSE
A CERTAIN Mr. Ts‘ui, of Lin-ch‘ing, was too poor to keep
his garden walls in repair, and used often to find a strange horse lying down
on the grass inside. It was a black horse marked with white, and having a
scrubby tail, which looked as if the end had been burnt off;[1] and, though
always driven away, would still return to the same spot. Now Mr. Ts‘ui had a
friend, who was holding an appointment in Shansi; and though he had frequently
felt desirous of paying him a visit, he had no means of travelling so far.
Accordingly, he one day caught the strange horse, and, putting a saddle on its
back, rode away, telling his servants that if the owner of the horse should
appear, he was to inform him where the animal was to be found.
The horse [p. 429] started off at a very rapid pace, and,
in a short time, they were thirty or forty miles from home; but at night it did
not seem to care for its food, so the next day Mr. Ts‘ui, who thought perhaps
illness might be the cause, held the horse in, and would not let it gallop so
fast. However, the animal did not seem to approve of this, and kicked and
foamed until at length Mr. Ts‘ui let it go at the same old pace; and by midday
he had reached his destination.
As he rode into the town, the people were astonished to
hear of the marvellous journey just accomplished, and the Prince[2] sent to say
he should like to buy the horse. Mr. Ts‘ui, fearing that the real owner might
come forward, was compelled to refuse this offer; but when, after six months
had elapsed, no inquiries had been made, he agreed to accept eight hundred
ounces of silver, and handed over the horse to the Prince. He then bought
himself a good mule, and returned home.
Subsequently, the Prince had occasion to use the horse for
some important business at Lin-ch‘ing; and when there it took the opportunity
to run away. The officer in charge pursued it right up to the house of a Mr.
Tsêng, who lived next door to Mr. Ts‘ui, and saw it run in and disappear.
Thereupon he called upon Mr. Tsêng to restore it to him; and, on the latter
declaring he had never even seen the animal, the officer walked into his
private apartments, where he found, hanging on the wall, a picture of a horse,
by Ch’ên Tzŭ-ang,3 exactly like the one he was in search of, and with part
of the tail burnt away by a joss-stick.
It was now clear that the Prince’s horse was a
supernatural creature; but the officer, being afraid to go back without it,
would have prosecuted Mr. Tsêng, had not Ts‘ui, whose eight hundred ounces of
silver had since increased to something like ten thousand, stepped in and paid
back the original purchase-money. Mr. Tsêng was exceedingly grateful to him for
this act of kindness, ignorant, as he was, of the previous sale of the horse by
Ts‘ui to the Prince.
1 The Chinese never cut the tails of their horses or
mules.
2 One of the feudal Governors of bygone days.
3 A.D. 656-698. Better known as a poet. [p. 430]
CXXXIX. THE BUTTERFLY’S REVENGE
MR. WANG, of Ch‘ang-shan, was in the habit, when a
District Magistrate, of commuting the fines and penalties of the Penal Code,
inflicted on the various prisoners, for a corresponding number of butterflies.
These he would let go all at once in the court, rejoicing to see them
fluttering hither and thither, like so many tinsel snippings borne about by the
breeze. One night he dreamt that a young lady, dressed in gay-coloured clothes,
appeared to him and said, “Your cruel practice has brought many of my sisters
to an untimely end, and now you shall pay the penalty of thus gratifying your
tastes.” The young lady then changed into a butterfly and flew away.
Next day, the magistrate was sitting alone, over a cup of
wine, when it was announced to him that the censor was at the door; and out he
ran at once to receive His Excellency, with a white flower, that some of his
women had put in his official hat, still sticking there. His Excellency was
very angry at what he deemed a piece of disrespect to himself; and, after
severely censuring Mr. Wang, turned round and went away. Thenceforward no more
penalties were commuted for butterflies.
CXL. THE DOCTOR
A CERTAIN poor man, named Chang, who lived at I, fell in
one day with a Taoist priest. The latter was highly skilled in the science of
physiognomy;[1] and, after looking at Chang’s features, said to him, “You would
make your fortune as a doctor.” “Alas!” replied Chang, “I can barely read and
write; how then could I follow such a calling as that?” “And where, you simple
fellow,” asked the priest, “is the necessity for a doctor to be a scholar? You
just try, that’s all.” Thereupon Chang returned home; and, being very poor, he
simply collected a few of the commonest prescriptions, and set up a small stall
with a handful of fishes’ teeth and some dry honey-comb [p. 431] from a wasp’s
nest,2 hoping thus to earn, by his tongue, enough to keep body and soul
together, to which, however, no one paid any particular attention.
Now it chanced that just then the Governor of Ch‘ing-chou
was suffering from a bad cough, and had given orders to his subordinates to
send to him the most skilful doctors in their respective districts; and the
magistrate of I, which was an out-of-the-way mountainous district, being unable
to lay his hands on any one whom he could send in, gave orders to the beadle[3]
to do the best he could under the circumstances. Accordingly, Chang was
nominated by the people, and the magistrate put his name down to go in to the
Governor. When Chang heard of his appointment, he happened to be suffering
himself from a bad attack of bronchitis, which he was quite unable to cure, and
he begged, therefore, to be excused; but the magistrate would not hear of this,
and forwarded him at once in charge of some constables.
While crossing the hills, he became very thirsty, and went
into a village to ask for a drink of water; but water there was worth its
weight in jade, and no one would give him any. By-and-by he saw an old woman
washing a quantity of vegetables in a scanty supply of water, which was consequently,
very thick and muddy; and, being unable to bear his thirst any longer, he
obtained this and drank it up. Shortly afterwards he found that his cough was
quite cured, and then it occurred to him that he had hit upon a capital remedy.
When he reached the city, he learned that a great many
doctors had already tried their hand upon the patient, but without success; so
asking for a private room in which to prepare his medicines, he obtained from
the town some bunches of bishop-wort, and proceeded to wash them as the old
woman had done. He then took the dirty water, and gave a dose of it to the
Governor, who was immediately and permanently relieved. The patient was
overjoyed; and, besides making Chang a handsome present, gave him a certificate
written in golden characters, in consequence of which his fame spread far and
wide;4 and of the numerous cases he subsequently [p. 432] undertook, in not a
single instance did he fail to effect a cure.
One day, however, a patient came to him, complaining of a
violent chill; and Chang, who happened to be tipsy at the time, treated him by
mistake for remittent fever. When he got sober, he became aware of what he had
done but he said nothing to anybody about it, and three days afterwards the
same patient waited upon him with all kinds of presents to thank him for a
rapid recovery. Such cases as this were by no means rare with him; and soon he
got so rich that he would not attend when summoned to visit a sick person,
unless the summons was accompanied by a heavy fee and a comfortable chair to
ride in.5
1 Advertisements of these professors of physiognomy are to
be seen in every Chinese city.
2 In order to make some show for the public eye.
3 See No. LXIV., note 2,
4 A doctor of any repute generally has large numbers of
such certificates, generally engraved on wood, hanging before and about his
front door. When I was stationed at Swatow, the Chinese writer at Her Majesty’s
Consulate presented one to Dr. E. J. Scott, the resident medical practitioner,
who had cured him of opium-smoking. It bore two principal characters,
“Miraculous Indeed!” accompanied by a few remarks, in a smaller-sized
character, laudatory of Dr. Scott’s professional skill. Banners, with graceful
inscriptions written upon them, are frequently presented by Chinese passengers
to the captains of coasting steamers who may have brought them safely through
bad weather.
5 The story is intended as a satire upon Chinese doctors
generally, whose ranks are recruited from the swarms of half-educated
candidates who have been rejected at the great competitive examinations,
medical diplomas being quite unknown in China. Doctors’ fees are, by a pleasant
fiction, called “horse-money;” and all prescriptions are made up by the local
apothecary, never by the physician himself.
CXLI. SNOW IN SUMMER
ON the 6th day of the 7th moon[1] of the year Ting-Hai
(1647) there was a heavy fall of snow at Soochow. The people were in a great
state of consternation at this, and went off to the temple of the Great Prince[2]
to pray. Then the spirit moved one of them to say, “You now address me as Your Honour. Make it Your Excellency, and, though I am but a
lesser deity, it may be well worth your while to do so.” Thereupon the people
began to use the latter term, and the snow stopped at once; from [p. 433] which
I infer that flattery is just as pleasant to divine as to mortal ears.3
1 This would be exactly at the hottest season.
2 The Jupiter
Pluvius of the neighbourhood,
3 A sneer at the superstitious custom of praying for good
or bad weather, which obtains in China from the Son of Heaven himself down to
the lowest agriculturist whose interests are involved. Droughts, floods,
famines, and pestilences are alike set down to the anger of Heaven, to be
appeased only by prayer and repentance.
CXLII. PLANCHETTE
AT Ch‘ang-shan there lived a man, named Wang Jui-t‘ing,
who understood the art of planchette.[1] He called himself [p. 434] a disciple
of Lü Tung-ping[2] and some one said he was probably that worthy’s crane. At
his séances the subjects were always
literary—essays, poetry, and so on. The well-known scholar, Li Chili, thought
very highly of him, and availed himself of his aid on more than one occasion;
so that by degrees the literati generally also patronised him. His responses to
questions of doubt or difficulty were remarkable for their reasonableness; matters
of mere good or bad fortune he did not care to enter into.
In 1631, just after the examination at Chi-nan, a number
of the candidates requested Mr. Wang to tell them how they would stand on the
list; and after having examined their essays, he proceeded to pass his opinion
on their merits.3 Among the rest there happened to be one who was very intimate
with another candidate, not present, whose name was Li Pien; and who, being an
enthusiastic student and a deep thinker, was confidently expected to appear
among the successful few. Accordingly, the friend submitted Mr. Li’s essay for
inspection; and in a few minutes two characters appeared on the sand—namely, “Number
one.” After a short interval this sentence followed:—“The decision given just
now had reference to Mr. Li’s essay simply as an essay. Mr. Li’s destiny is darkly
obscured, and he will suffer accordingly. It is strange, indeed, that a man’s
literary powers and his destiny should thus be out of harmony.4 Surely the
Examiner will judge of him by his essay;—but stay: I will go and see how
matters stand.” Another pause ensued, and then these words were written down:—“I
have been over to the Examiner’s yarnen, and have found a pretty state of
things going on; instead of reading the candidates’ papers himself; he has
handed them over to his clerks, some half-dozen illiterate fellows who
purchased their own degrees, [p. 435] and who, in their previous existence, had
no status what-ever,—‘hungry devils’[5] begging their bread in all directions;
and who, after eight hundred years passed in the murky gloom of the infernal
regions, have lost all discrimination, like men long buried in a cave and
suddenly transferred to the light of day. Among them may be one or two who have
risen above their former selves, but the odds are against an essay falling into
the hands of one of these.” The young men then begged to know if there was any
method by which such an evil might be counteracted; to which the planchette
replied that there was, but, as it was universally understood, there was no
occasion for asking the question.
Thereupon they went off and told Mr. Li, who was so much
distressed at the prediction that he submitted his essay to His Excellency Sun
Tzŭ-mei, one of the finest scholars of the day. This gentleman examined
it, and was so pleased with its literary merit that he told Li he was quite
sure to pass, and the latter thought no more about the planchette prophecy.
However, when the list came out, there he was down in the fourth class; and
this so much disconcerted His Excellency Mr. Sun, that he went carefully
through the essay again for fear lest any blemishes might have escaped his
attention. Then he cried out, “Well, I have always thought this Examiner to be
a scholar; he can never have made such a mistake as this; it must be the fault
of some of his drunken assistants, who don’t know the mere rudiments of
composition.”
This fulfilment of the prophecy raised Mr. Wang very high
in the estimation of the candidates, who forthwith went and burned incense and
invoked the spirit of the planchette, which at once replied in the following
terms:—“Let not Mr. Li be disheartened by temporary failure. Let him rather
strive to improve himself still further, and next year he may be among the
first on the list.” Li carried out these injunctions and after a time the story
reached the ears of the Examiner, who gratified Li by making a public
acknowledgment that there had been some miscarriage of justice at the examination;
and the following year he was passed high up on the list.6
1 Planchette was in full swing in China at the date of the
composition of these stories, more than 200 years ago, and remains so at the
present day. The character chi, used
here and elsewhere for Planchette, is defined in the Shuo Wên, a Chinese dictionary, published A.D. 100, “to inquire by
divination on doubtful topics,” no mention being made of the particular manner
in which responses are obtained. For the purpose of writing from personal
experience, I once attended a séance
at a temple in Amoy, and witnessed the whole performance. After much delay, I
was requested to write on a slip of paper “any question I might have to put to
the God;” and, accordingly, I took pencil and wrote down, “A humble suppliant
ventures to inquire if he will win the Manila lottery.” This question was then
placed upon the altar, at the feet of the God and shortly afterwards two
respectable-looking Chinamen, not priests, approached a small table covered
with sand, and each seized one arm of a forked piece of wood, at the fork of
which was a stumpy end, at right angles to the plane of the arms. Immediately
the attendants began burning quantities of joss-paper, while the two performers
whirled the instrument round and round at a rapid rate, its vertical point
being all the time pressed down upon the table of sand. All of a sudden the
whirling movement stopped, and the point of the instrument rapidly traced a
character in the sand which was at once identified by several of the
bystanders, and forthwith copied down by a clerk in attendance. The whirling
movement was then continued until a similar pause was made and another
character appeared and so on, until I had four lines of correctly-rhymed
Chinese verse, each line consisting of seven characters. The following is an
almost word-for-word translation:
“The pulse of human nature throbs from England to Cathay,
And gambling mortals ever love to swell their gains by play;
For gold in this vile world of ours is everywhere a prize—
A thousand taels shall meet the prayer that on this altar
lies.”
As the question is not concealed from view, all that is
necessary for such a hollow deception is a quick-witted versifier who can put
together a poetical response stans pede
in uno. But in such matters the unlettered masses of China are easily
outwitted, and are a profitable source of income to the more astute of their
fellow-countrymen.
2 A recluse who flourished in the eighth century of our
era, and who, for his devotion to the Taoist religion, was subsequently
canonised as one of the Eight Immortals. He is generally represented as riding
on a crane.
3 That is, by means of the planchette-table.
4 Our author was here evidently thinking of his own
unlucky fate.
5 See No. CXXXI., note 4.
6 See No. LXXV., note I.
CXLIII. FRIENDSHIP WITH FOXES
A CERTAIN man had an enormous stack of straw, as big as a
hill, in which his servants, taking what was daily required for use, had made
quite a hole. In this hole a fox fixed his abode, and would often show himself
to the master of the house under the form of an old man. One day the latter
invited the master to walk into the cave, which he at first declined, but
accepted on being pressed by the fox; and when he got inside, lo! he saw a long
suite of handsome apartments. They then sat down, and exquisitely perfumed tea
and wine were brought; but the place was so gloomy that there was no difference
between night and day. By-and-by, the entertainment being over, the guest took
his leave; and on looking back the beautiful rooms and their contents had all
disappeared.
The old man himself was in the habit of going away in the
evening and returning with the first streaks of morning; and as no one was able
to follow him, the master of the house asked him one day whither he went. To
this he replied that a friend invited him to take wine; and then the master
begged to be allowed to accompany him, a proposal to which the old man very
reluctantly consented. However, he seized the master by the arm, and away they
went as though riding on the wings of the wind; and, in about the time it takes
to cook a pot of millet, they reached a city, and walked into a restaurant,
where there were a number of people drinking together and making a great noise.
The old man led his companion to a gallery above, from which they could look
down on the feasters below; and he himself went down and brought away from the
tables all kinds of nice food and wine, without appearing to be seen or noticed
by any of the company. After awhile a man dressed in red garments came forward
and laid upon the table some dishes of cumquats;[1] and the master at once
requested the old man to go down and get him some of these. “Ah,” replied the
latter, “that is an upright man: I cannot approach him.” Thereupon the master
said to [p. 437] himself, “By thus seeking the companionship of a fox, I then
am deflected from the true course. Henceforth I, too, will be an upright man.”
No sooner had he formed this resolution, than he suddenly
lost all control over his body, and fell from the gallery down among the
revellers below. These gentlemen were much astonished by his unexpected
descent; and he himself, looking up, saw there was no gallery to the house, but
only a large beam upon which he had been sitting. He now detailed the whole of
the circumstances, and those present made up a purse for him to pay his
travelling expenses; for he was at Yu-t‘ai—one thousand li from home.
1 Literally, “golden oranges.” These are skilfully
preserved by the Cantonese, and form a delicious sweetmeat for dessert,
CXLIV. THE GREAT RAT
DURING the reign of the Emperor Wan Li,[1] the palace was
troubled by the presence of a huge rat, quite as big as a cat, which ate up all
the cats that were set to catch it. Just then it chanced that among the tribute
offerings sent by some foreign State was a lion-cat, as white as snow. This cat
was accordingly put into the room where the rat usually appeared; and, the door
being closely shut, a secret watch was kept. By-and-by the rat came out of its
hole and rushed at the cat, which turned and fled, finally jumping up on the
table. The rat followed, upon which the cat jumped down; and thus they went on
up and down for some time. Those who were watching said the cat was afraid and
of no use; however, in a little while the rat began to jump less briskly, and
soon after squatted down out of breath. Then the cat rushed at it, and, seizing
the rat by the back of the neck, shook and shook while its victim squeaked and
squeaked, until life was extinct. Thus they knew that the cat was not afraid,
but merely waited for its adversary to be fatigued, fleeing when pursued and
itself pursuing the fleeing rat. Truly, many a bad swordsman may be compared
with that rat!
1 A.D. 1573-1620 the epoch of the most celebrated “blue
china.”
CXLV. WOLVES
I.—A CERTAIN village butcher, who had bought some meat at
market and was returning home in the evening, suddenly came across a wolf,
which followed him closely, its mouth watering at the sight of what he was
carrying. The butcher drew his knife and drove the animal off; and then
reflecting that his meat was the attraction, he determined to hang it up in a
tree and fetch it the next morning. This he accordingly did, and the wolf
followed him no further; but when he went at daylight to recover his property,
he saw something hanging up in the tree resembling a human corpse. It turned
out to be the wolf, which, in its efforts to get at the meat, had been caught
on the meat-hook like a fish; and as the skin of a wolf was just then worth ten
ounces of silver, the butcher found himself possessed of quite a little
capital. Here we have a laughable instance of the result of “climbing trees to
catch fish.”1
II.—A butcher, while travelling alone at night, was sore
pressed by a wolf, and took refuge in an old mat shed which had been put up for
the watchman of the crops. There he lay, while the wolf sniffed at him from
outside, and at length thrust in one of its paws from underneath. This the
butcher seized hold of at once, and held it firmly, so that the wolf couldn’t
stir; and then, having no other weapon at hand, he took a small knife he had
with him and slit the skin underneath the wolf’s paw. He now proceeded to blow
into it, as butchers blow into pork; 2 and after vigorously blowing for some
time, he found that the wolf had ceased to struggle; upon which he went outside
and saw the animal lying on the ground, swelled up to the size of a cow, and
unable to bend its legs or close its open mouth. Thereupon he threw it across
his shoulders and carried it off home. However, such a feat as this could only
be accomplished by a butcher.
1 A satirical remark of Mencius (Book I.), used by the
sage when combating the visionary projects of a monarch of antiquity.
2 This disgusting process is too frequently performed by
native butchers at the present day, in order to give their meat a more tempting
appearance. Water is also blown in through a tube, to make it heavier and
inexperienced housekeepers are often astonished to find how light ducks and geese
become after being cooked, not knowing that the fraudulent poulterer had
previously stuffed their throats as full as possible of sand.
CXLVI. SINGULAR VERDICT
A SERVANT in the employ of a Mr. Sun was sleeping alone
one night, when all of a sudden he was arrested and carried before the tribunal
of the Ruler of Purgatory. “This is not the right man,” cried His Majesty, and
immediately sent him back. However, after this the servant was afraid to sleep
on that bed again, and took up his quarters elsewhere. But another servant,
named Kuo Ngan, seeing the vacant place, went and occupied it. A third servant,
named Li Lu, who had an old standing grudge against the first, stole up to the
bed that same night with a knife in his hand, and killed Kuo Ngan[1] in mistake
for his enemy. Kuo’s father at once brought the case before the magistrate of
the place, pleading that the murdered man was his only son on whom he depended
for his living; and the magistrate decided that Kuo was to take Li Lu in the
place of his dead son, much to the discomfiture of the old man. Truly the
descent of the first servant into Purgatory was not so marvellous as the
magistrate’s decision!
1 This was the man whose destiny it was really to die just
then, and appear before the Ruler of Purgatory.
CXLVII.
THE GRATEFUL DOG
A CERTAIN trader who had been doing business at Wu-hu and
was returning home with the large profits he had made, saw on the river-bank a
butcher tying up a dog.1 He bought the animal for much more than its value, and
carried it along with him in his boat. Now the boatman had formerly been a
bandit; and, tempted by his passenger’s [p. 440] wealth, ran the boat among the
rushes, and, drawing a knife, prepared to slay him. The trader begged the man
to leave him a whole skin;2 so the boatman wrapped him up in a carpet and threw
him into the river. The dog, on seeing what was done, whined piteously, and,
jumping into the river, seized the bundle with his teeth and did his best to
keep the trader above water until at length a shallow spot was reached. The
animal then succeeded by continuous barking in attracting the attention of some
people on the bank, and they hauled the bundle out of the river, and released
the trader, who was still alive.
The latter asked to be taken back to Wu-hu, where he might
look out for the robber boatman; but just as he was about to start, lo the dog
was missing. The trader was much distressed at this; and after spending some
days at Wu-hu without being able to find, among the forest of masts collected
there, the particular boat he wanted, he was on the point of returning home
with a friend, when suddenly the dog reappeared, and seemed by its barking to
invite its master to follow in a certain direction. This the trader did, until
at length the dog jumped on a boat and seized one of the boatmen by the leg. No
beating could make the animal let go; and on looking closely at the man, the
trader saw he was the identical boatman who had robbed and tried to murder him.
He had changed his clothes and also his boat, so that at first he was not
recognisable; he was now, however, arrested, and the whole of the money was
found in his boat.
To think that a dog could show gratitude like that! Truly
there are not a few persons who would be put to shame by that faithful animal.3
1 The city of Canton boasts several “cat and dog”
restaurants; but the consumption of this kind of food is much less universal
than is generally supposed.
2 Not in our sense of the term. It was not death, but
decapitation, or even mutilation, from which the trader begged to be spared.
See No. LXXII., note 6.
3 The Chinese dog is usually an ill-fed, barking cur,
without one redeeming trait in its character. Valued as a guardian of house and
property, this animal does not hold the same social position as with us; its
very name is a byword of reproach; and the people of Tongking explain their
filthy custom of blackening the teeth on the ground that a dog’s teeth are
white. [p. 441]
CXLVIII. THE GREAT TEST
BEFORE Mr. Yang Ta-hung[1] was known to fame, he had
already acquired some reputation as a scholar in his own part of the country,
and felt convinced himself that his was to be no mean destiny. When the list of
successful candidates at the examination was brought to where he lived, he was
in the middle of dinner, and rushed out with his mouth full to ask if his name
was there or not; and on hearing that it was not, he experienced such a
revulsion of feeling that what he then swallowed stuck fast like a lump in his
chest and made him very ill. His friends tried to appease him by advising him
to try at the further examination of the rejected, and when he urged that he
had no money, they subscribed ten ounces of silver and started him on his way.
That night he dreamt that a man appeared to him and said,
“Ahead of you there is one who can cure your complaint: beseech him to aid
you.” The man then added
A tune on the flute ‘neath the riverside willow
Oh, show no regret when ‘tis cast to the billow!
Next day, Mr. Yang actually met a Taoist priest
sitting beneath a willow tree; and, making him a bow, asked him to prescribe
for his malady. “You have come to the wrong person,” replied the priest,
smiling; “I cannot cure diseases; but had you asked me for a tune on the flute,
I could have possibly helped you.” Then Mr. Yang knew that his dream was being
fulfilled; and going down on his knees offered the priest all the money he had.
The priest took it, but immediately threw it into the river, at which Mr. Yang,
thinking how hardly he had come by his money, was moved to express his regret.
“Aha!” cried the priest at this; “so you are not indifferent, eh? You’ll find
your money all safe on the bank.” There indeed Mr. Yang found it, at which he
was so much astonished that he [p. 442] addressed the priest as though he had
been an angel. “I am no angel,” said the priest, “but here comes one;”
whereupon Mr. Yang looked behind him, and the priest seized the opportunity to
give him a slap on the back, crying out at the same time, “You worldly-minded
fellow!” This blow brought up the lump of food that had stuck in his chest, and
he felt better at once; but when he looked round the priest had disappeared.2
1 A celebrated scholar and statesman, who flourished
towards the close of the Ming dynasty, and distinguished himself by his
impeachment of the powerful eunuch, Wei Chung-hsien,—a dangerous step to take
in those eunuch-ridden times.
2 Mr. Yang was a man of tried virtue, and had he been able
to tolerate the loss of his money, the priest would have given him, not merely
a cure for the bodily ailment under which he was sufering, but a knowledge of
those means by which he might have obtained the salvation of his soul, and have
enrolled himself among the ranks of the Taoist Immortals. “To those, however,”
remarks the author, “who lament that Mr. Yang was too worldly-minded to secure
this great prize, I reply, ‘Better one more good man on earth, than an extra
angel in heaven.’”
CXLIX. THE ALCHEMIST[1]
AT Ch’ang-ngan there lived a scholar named Chia Tzŭ-lung,
who one day noticed a very refined-looking stranger; and, on making inquiries
about him, learnt that he was a Mr. Chên who had taken lodgings hard by.
Accordingly, next day Chia called and sent in his card, but did not see Chên,
who happened to be out at the time. The same thing occurred thrice, and at
length Chia engaged some one to watch. and let him know when Mr. Chên was at
home. However, even then the latter would not come forth to receive his guest,
and Chia had to go in and rout him out.
The two now entered into conversation, and soon became
mutually charmed with each other and by-and-by Chia sent off a servant to bring
wine from a neighbouring wine-shop. Mr. Chên proved himself a pleasant boon
companion, and when the wine was nearly finished, he went to a box and took
from it some wine-cups and a large and beautiful jade tankard, into the latter
of which he poured a single cup of wine, and lo! it was filled to the brim.
They then proceeded to help themselves from the tankard; but how [p. 443] ever
much they took out, the contents never seemed to diminish. Chia was astonished
at this, and begged Mr. Chên to tell him how it was done. “Ah,” replied Mr.
Chên, “I tried to avoid making your acquaintance solely because of your one bad
quality—avarice. The art I practise is a secret known to the Immortals only:
how can I divulge it to you?” “You do me wrong,” rejoined Chia, ‘in thus
attributing avarice to me. The avaricious, indeed, are always poor.” Mr. Chên
laughed, and they separated for that day; but from that time they were
constantly together, and all ceremony was laid aside between them.
Whenever Chia wanted money, Mr. Chên would bring out a
black stone, and, muttering a charm, would rub it on a tile or a brick, which
was forthwith changed into a lump of silver. This silver he would give to Chia,
and it was always just as much as he actually required, neither more nor less;
and if ever the latter asked for more, Mr. Chên would rally him on the subject
of avarice.
Finally, Chia determined to try and get possession of this
stone; and one day, when Mr. Chên was sleeping off the fumes of a
drinking-bout, he tried to extract it from his clothes. However, Chên detected
him at once, and declared that they could be friends no more, and next day he
left the place altogether. About a year afterwards Chia was one day wandering
by the river-bank, when he saw a handsome-looking stone, marvellously like that
in the possession of Mr. Chên; and he picked it up at once and carried it home
with him.
A few days passed away, and suddenly Mr. Chên presented
himself at Chia’s house, and explained that the stone in question possessed the
property of changing anything into gold, and had been bestowed upon him long
before by a certain Taoist priest, whom he had followed as a disciple. “Alas!”
added he, “I got tipsy and lost it; but divination told me where it was, and if
you will now restore it to me, I shall take care to repay your kindness.” “You
have divined rightly,” replied Chia; “the stone is with me; but recollect, if
you please, that the indigent Kuan Chung[2] shared the wealth of his friend Pao
Shu.” At this hint Mr. Chên said he would give Chia one hundred ounces of
silver; to which the latter replied that one hundred ounces was a fair offer,
but that he would far sooner have Mr. Chên teach him the [p. 444] formula to
utter when rubbing the stone on anything, so as just to try the thing once
himself. Mr. Chên was afraid to do this; whereupon Chia cried out, “You are an
Immortal yourself; you must know well enough that I would never deceive a
friend.” So Mr. Chên was prevailed upon to teach him the formula, and then Chia
would have tried the art upon the immense stone washing-block[3] which was
lying near at hand had not Mr. Chên seized his arm and begged. him not to do
anything so outrageous. Chia then picked up half a brick and laid it on the
washing-block, saying to Mr. Chên, “This little piece is not too much, surely?”
Accordingly, Mr. Chên relaxed his hold and let Chia proceed; which he did by
promptly ignoring the half brick and quickly rubbing the stone on the
washing-block. Mr. Chên turned pale when he saw him do this, and made a. dash.
forward to get hold of the stone; but it was too late, the washing-block was
already a solid mass of silver, and Chia quietly handed him back the stone,
“Alas! alas!” cried Mr. Chên in despair, “what is to be done now? For having.
thus irregularly conferred wealth upon a mortal,4 Heaven will surely punish me.
Oh, if you would save me, give away one hundred coffins[5] and one hundred
suits of wadded clothes.” “My friend,” replied Chia, “my object in getting
money was not to hoard it up like a miser.”
Mr. Chên was delighted at this and during the next three
years Chia engaged in trade, taking care to be all the time fulfilling his
promise to Mr. Chên. At the expiration of that time Mr. Chên himself
reappeared, and, grasping Chia’s hand, said to him, “Trustworthy and noble
friend, when we last parted the Spirit of Happiness impeached me before God,6 and
my name was erased from the list of angels. But now that you have carried out
my request, [p. 445] that sentence has accordingly been rescinded. Go on as you
have begun, without ceasing.” Chia asked Mr. Chên what office he filled in
heaven; to which the latter replied that he was only a fox, who, by a sinless
life, had finally attained to that clear perception of the Truth which leads to
immortality. Wine was then brought, and the two friends enjoyed themselves
together as of old; and even when Chia had passed the age of ninety years, that
fox still used to visit him from time to time.
1 Alchemy is first mentioned in Chinese history B.C. 133,
and was widely cultivated in China during the Han dynasty by priests of the
Taoist religion.
2 See No. XXII., note 1.
3 These are used, together with a heavy wooden bâton, by the Chinese washerman, the
effect being most disastrous to a European’ wardrobe,
4 For thus interfering with the appointments of destiny.
5 To provide coffins for poor people has ever been regarded
as an act of transcendent merit. The tornado at Canton in April 1878, in which
several thousand lives were lost, afforded an admirable opportunity for the
exercise of this form of charity—an opportunity which was very largely availed
of by the benevolent.
6 For usurping its prerogative by allowing Chia to obtain
unauthorised wealth.
CL. RAISING THE DEAD
MR. T‘ANG P‘ING, who took the highest degree in the year
1661, was suffering from a protracted illness, when suddenly he felt, as it
were, a warm glow rising from his extremities upwards. By the time it had
reached his knees, his feet were perfectly numb and without sensation; and
before long his knees and the lower part of his body were similarly affected.
Gradually this glow worked its way up until it attacked the heart,1 and then
some painful moments ensued. Every single incident of Mr. T’ang’s life from his
boyhood upwards, no matter how trivial, seemed to surge through his mind, borne
along on the tide of his heart’s blood. At the revival of any virtuous act of
his, he experienced a delicious feeling of peace and calm; but when any wicked
deed passed before his mind, a painful disturbance took place within him, like
oil boiling and fretting in a cauldron. He was quite unable to describe the
pangs he suffered: however, he mentioned that he could recollect having stolen,
when only seven or eight years old, some young birds from their nest, and
having killed them; and for this alone, he said, boiling blood rushed through
his heart during the space of an ordinary meal-time. Then when all the acts of
his life had passed one after another in panorama before him, the warm glow
proceeded up his throat, and, entering the brain, issued out at the top of his
head like smoke from a chimney.
By-and-by Mr. T’ang’s soul escaped from his body by the
same aperture, and wandered far away, forgetting all about the tenement it had
[p. 446] left behind. Just at that moment a huge giant carne along, and,
seizing the soul, thrust it into his sleeve, where it remained cramped and
confined, huddled up with a crowd of others, until existence was almost
unbearable. Suddenly Mr. T’ang reflected that Buddha alone could save him from
this horrible state, and forthwith he began to call upon his holy name.2 At the
third or fourth invocation he fell out of the giant’s sleeve, whereupon the
latter picked him up and put him back; but this happened several times, and at
length the giant, wearied of picking him up, let him lie where he was.
The soul lay there for some time, not knowing in which
direction to proceed; however, it soon recollected that the land of Buddha was
in the west, and westwards accordingly it began to shape its course. In a
little while the soul came upon a Buddhist priest sitting by the roadside, and
hastening forwards, respectfully inquired of him which was the right way. “The
record of life and death for scholars,” replied the priest, “is in the hands of
Wên-ch‘ang[3] and Confucius; any application must receive the consent of both.”
The priest then directed Mr. T’ang on his way, and the
latter journeyed along until he reached a Confucian temple, in which the Sage
was sitting with his face to the south.4 On hearing his business, Confucius
referred him on to Wên-ch‘ang; and, proceeding onwards in the direction
indicated, Mr. T’ang by-and-by arrived at what seemed to be the palace of a
king, within which sat Wên-ch‘ang precisely as we depict him on earth. “You are
an upright man,” replied the God, in reply to Mr. T’ang’s prayer, “and are
certainly entitled to a longer span of life; but by this time your mortal body
has become decomposed, and unless you can secure the assistance of P‘u-sa,5 I
can give you no aid.”
So Mr. T’ang set off once more, and hurried along until he
came to a magnificent shrine standing in a thick grove of tall bamboos; and,
entering in, he stood in the presence of the God, on whose head was the ushnisha,6 whose golden [p. 447] face was round like the full moon,
and at whose side was a green willow-branch bending gracefully over the lip of
a vase. Humbly Mr. Tang prostrated himself on the ground, and repeated what
Wên-ch‘ang had, said to him; but P‘u-sa seemed to think it would be impossible
to grant his request, until one of the Lohans[7] who stood by cried out, “O
God, Thou canst perform this miracle: take earth and make his flesh; take a
sprig of willow and make his bones.” Thereupon P‘u-sa broke off a piece from
the willow-branch in the vase beside him; and, pouring a little of the water
upon the ground, he made clay, and, casting the whole over Mr. T’ang’s soul,
bade an attendant lead the body back to the place where his coffin was.
At that instant Mr. T’ang’s family heard a groan
proceeding from within his coffin, and, on rushing to it and helping out the
lately-deceased man, they found he had quite recovered. He had then been dead
seven days.
1 See No. XIV., note 5.
2 See No. LIV., note 3.
3 The God of Literature.
4 See No. LXXVIL, note 1.
5 See No. XXVI, note 5.
6 A fleshy protuberance on the head, which is the
distinguishing mark of a Buddha.
7 The eighteen personal disciples of Shâkyamuni Buddha.
Sixteen of these are Hindoos, which number was subsequently increased by the
addition of two Chinese Buddhists.
CLI. FÊNG-SHUI[1]
AT I-chou there lived a high official named Sung, whose
family were all ardent supporters of Fêng-Shui; so much so, that even the
women-folk read books[2] on the subject, and understood the principles of the
science. When Mr. [p. 448] Sung died, his two sons set up separate
establishments,3 and each invited to his own house geomancers from far and
near, who had any reputation in their art, to select a spot for the dead man’s
grave. By degrees, they had collected together as many as a hundred apiece, and
every day they would scour the country round, each at the head of his own particular
regiment. After about a month of this work, both sides had fixed upon a
suitable position for the grave; and the geomancers engaged by one brother
declared that if their spot was selected he would certainly some day be made a
marquis, while the other brother was similarly informed, by his geomancers,
that by adopting their choice, he would infallibly rise to the rank of
Secretary of State. Thus, neither brother would give way to the other, but each
set about making the grave in his own particular place,—pitching marquees, and
arranging banners, and making all necessary preparations for the funeral.
Then when the coffin arrived at the point where roads
branched off to the two graves, the two brothers, each leading on his own
little army of geomancers, bore down upon it with a view to gaining possession
of the corpse. From morn till dewy eve the battle raged; and as neither gained
any advantage over the other, the mourners and friends, who had come to witness
the ceremony of burial, stole away one by one and the coolies, who were
carrying the coffin, after changing the poles from one shoulder to another
until they were quite worn out, put the body down by the roadside, and went off
home.
It then became necessary to make some protection for the
coffin against the wind and rain; whereupon the elder brother immediately set
about building a hut close by, in which he purposed leaving some of his
attendants to keep guard; but he had no sooner begun than the younger brother
followed his example; and when the elder built a second and third, the younger
also built a second and third and as this went on for the space of three whole
years, by the end of that time the place had become quite a little village.
By-and-by, both brothers died, one directly after the other;
and then their two wives determined to cast to [p. 449] the winds the decision
of each party of geomancers. Accordingly, they went together to the two spots
in question; and after inspecting them carefully, declared that neither was
suitable. The next step was to jointly engage another set of geomancers, who
submitted for their approval several different spots, and ten days had hardly
passed away before the two women had agreed upon the position for their
father-in-law’s grave, which, as the wife of the younger brother prophesied,
would surely give to the family a high military degree. So the body was buried,
and within three years Mr. Sung’s eldest grandson, who had entered as a
military cadet, actually took the corresponding degree to a literary master of
arts.
[“Fêng-Shui,” adds the author, “may or may not be based
upon sound principles; at any rate, to indulge a morbid belief in it is utter
folly; and thus to join issue and fight while a coffin is relegated to the
roadside, is hardly in accordance with the doctrines of filial piety or
fraternal love. Can people believe that mere Position will improve the fortunes
of their family? At any rate, that two women should have thus quietly settled
the matter is certainly worthy of record.”]
1 Literally, “wind and water,” or that which cannot be
seen and that which cannot be grasped. I have explained the term in my Chinese Sketches, p. 143, as “a system
of geomancy, by the science of which it is possible to determine the
desirability of sites,—whether of tombs, houses, or cities, from the
configuration of such natural objects as rivers, trees, and hills, and to
foretell with certainty the fortunes of any family, community, or individual
according to the spot selected; by the art
of which it is in the power of the geomancer to counteract evil influences by
good ones, to transform straight and noxious outlines into undulating and
propitious curves, and rescue whole districts from the devastation of flood or
pestilence.”
2 As a rule, only the daughters of wealthy families
receive any education to speak of.
3. A reprehensible proceeding in the eyes of all
respectable Chinese, both from a moral and a practical point of view; “for when
brothers fall out,” says the proverb, “strangers get an advantage over them.”
CLII. THE LINGERING DEATH
THERE was a man in our village who led an exceedingly
disreputable life. One morning when he got up rather early, two men appeared,
and led him away to the marketplace, where he saw a butcher hanging up half a
pig. As they approached, the two men shoved him with all their might against
the dead animal, and lo! his own flesh began to blend with the pork before him,
while his conductors hurried off in an opposite direction. By-and-by the
butcher wanted to sell a piece of his meat; and, seizing a knife, began to cut
off the quantity required.. At every touch of the blade our disreputable friend
experienced a severe pang, which penetrated into his very marrow; and when, at
length, an old man came and haggled over the weight given him, crying out for a
little bit more fat, or an extra portion [p. 450] of lean,1 then, as the
butcher sliced away the pork ounce by ounce, the pain was unendurable in the
extreme.
By about nine o’clock the pork was all sold, and our hero
went home, whereupon his family asked him what he meant by staying in bed so
late.2 He then narrated all that had taken place, and on making inquiries, they
found that the pork butcher had only just come home; besides which our friend
was able to tell him every pound of meat he had sold, and every slice. he had
cut off. Fancy a man being put to the lingering death[3] like this before
breakfast!
1 Chinese tradesmen invariably begin by giving short
weight in such transactions as these, partly in order to be in a position to
gratify the customer by throwing in a trifle more and thus acquire a reputation
for fair dealing.
2 It was only his soul that had left the house.
3 See No. LVI., note 12.
CLIII. DREAMING HONOURS
WANG Tzu-NGAN was a Tung-ch‘ang man, and a scholar of some
repute, but unfortunate at the public examinations. On one occasion, after
having been up for his master’s degree, his anxiety was very great; and when
the time for the publication of the list drew near, he drank himself gloriously
tipsy, and went and lay down on the bed. In a few moments a man rushed in, and
cried out, “Sir! you have passed!” whereupon Wang jumped up, and. said, “Give
him ten strings of cash.”1 Wang’s wife, seeing he was drunk, and wishing to
keep him quiet, replied, “You go on sleeping: I’ve given him the money.”
So Wang lay down again, but before long in came another
man who informed Wang that his name was among the successful candidates for the
highest degree. “Why, I haven’t been up for it yet,” said Wang; “how can I have
passed?” “What! you don’t mean to say you have forgotten the examination?”
answered the man; and then Wang got up once more, and gave orders to present
the informant with ten strings of cash. “All right,” replied his wife; [p. 451]
“you go on sleeping: I’ve given him the money.”
Another short interval, and in burst a third messenger to
say that Wang had been elected a member of the National Academy, and that two
official servants had come to escort him thither. Sure enough there were the
two servants bowing at the bedside, and accordingly Wang directed that they
should be served with wine and meat, which his wife, smiling at his drunken
nonsense, declared had been already done. Wang now bethought him that he should
go out and receive the congratulations of the neighbours, and roared out
several times to his official servants; but without receiving any answer. “Go
to sleep,” said his wife, “and wait till I have fetched them;” and after awhile
the servants actually came in; whereupon Wang stamped and swore at them for
being such idiots as to go away.
“What! you wretched scoundrel,” cried the servants, “are
you cursing us in earnest, when we are only joking with you!” At this Wang’s
rage knew no bounds, and he set upon the men, and gave them a sound beating,
knocking the hat of one off on to the ground. In the mêlée, he himself tumbled over, and his wife ran in to pick him up,
saying, “Shame upon you, for getting so drunk as this!” “I was only punishing
the servants as they deserved,,” replied Wang; “why do you call me drunk?” “Do
you mean the old woman who cooks our rice and boils the water for your
foot-bath,” asked his wife, smiling, “that you talk of servants to wait upon
your poverty-stricken carcase?” At this sally all the women burst out in a roar
of laughter; and Wang, who was just beginning to get sober, waked up as if from
a dream, and knew that there was no reality in all that had taken place.
However, he recollected the spot where the servant’s hat
had fallen off, and on going thither to look for it, lo! he beheld a tiny official
hat, no larger than a wine-cup, lying there behind the door. They were all much
astonished at this, and Wang himself cried out, “Formerly people were thus
tricked by devils; and now foxes are playing the fool with me!”2
1 See No. CXXIII., note 2.
2 A common saying is, “Foxes in the north; devils in the
south,” as illustrative of the folk-lore of these two great divisions of China. [p. 452]
CLIV. THE SHE-WOLF AND THE
HERD-BOYS
TWO herd-boys went up among the hills and found a wolf’s
lair with two little wolves in it. Seizing each of them one, they forthwith
climbed two trees which stood there, at a distance of forty or fifty paces
apart. Before long the old wolf came back, and, finding her cubs gone, was in a
great state of distress. Just then, one of the herd-boys pinched his cub and
made it squeak; whereupon the mother ran angrily towards the tree whence the
sound proceeded, and tried to climb up it. At this juncture, the boy in the
other tree pinched the other cub, and thereby diverted the wolf’s attention in
that direction. But no sooner had she reached the foot of the second tree, than
the boy who had first pinched his cub did so again, and away ran the old wolf
back to the tree in which her other young one was. Thus they went on time after
time, until the mother was dead tired, and lay down exhausted on the ground.
Then, when after some time she showed no signs of moving,
the herd-boys crept stealthily down, and found that the wolf was already stiff
and cold. And truly, it is better to meet a blustering foe with his hand upon
his sword-hilt, by retiring within doors, and leaving him to fret his violence
away unopposed; for such is but the behaviour of brute beasts, of which men
thus take advantage.
CLV. ADULTERATION[1] PUNISHED
AT Chin-ling there lived a seller of spirits, who was in
the habit of adulterating his liquor with water and a certain drug, the effect
of which was that even a few cups would make the strongest-headed man as drunk
as a jelly-fish.2 Thus his shop acquired a reputation for having a good article
on sale, and by degrees he became a rich man. One [p. 453] morning, on getting
up, he found a fox lying drunk alongside of the spirit vat; and tying its legs
together, he was about to fetch a knife, when suddenly the fox waked up, and
began pleading for its life, promising in return to do anything the
spirit-merchant might require. The latter then released the animal, which
instantly changed into the form of a human being. Now, at that very time, the
wife of a neighbour was suffering under fox influence, and this
recently-transformed animal confessed to the spirit-merchant that it was he who
had been troubling her. Thereupon the spirit-merchant, who knew the lady in
question to be a celebrated beauty, begged his fox friend to secretly introduce
him to her.
After raising some objections, the fox at length
consented, and conducted the spirit-merchant to a cave, where he gave him a
suit of serge clothes, which he said had belonged to his late brother, and in
which he told him he could easily go. The merchant put them on, and returned
home, when, to his great delight, he observed that no one could see him, but
that if he changed into his ordinary clothes everybody could see him as before.
Accordingly he set off with the fox for his neighbour’s house; and, when they
arrived, the first thing they beheld was a charm on the wall, like a great
wriggling dragon. At this the fox was greatly alarmed, and said, “That
scoundrel of a priest! I can’t go any farther.” He then ran off home, leaving
the spirit-merchant to proceed by himself. The latter walked quietly in, to
find that the dragon on the wall was a real one, and preparing to fly at him,
so he too turned, and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. The fact
was that the family had engaged a priest to drive away the fox influence; and
he, not being able to go at the moment himself, gave them this charm to stick
up on the wall.
The following day the priest himself came, and, arranging
an altar, proceeded to exorcise the fox. All the villagers crowded round to
see, and among others was the spirit-merchant, who, in the middle of the
ceremony, suddenly changed colour, and hurried out of the front door, where he
fell on the ground in the shape of a fox, having his clothes still hanging
about his arms and legs. The bystanders would have killed him on the spot, but
his wife begged them to spare him; and the priest let her take the fox home,
where in a few days it died. [p. 454]
1 In no country in the world is adulteration more
extensively practised than in China, the only formal check upon it being a
religious one—the dread of punishment in the world below.
2 The text has here a word (literally, “mud “) explained
to be the name of a boneless aquatic creature, which on being removed from the
water lies motionless like a lump of mud. The common term for a jelly-fish is shui-mu, “water-mother.”
CLVI. A CHINESE SOLOMON
IN our district there lived two men, named Hu Ch‘êng and
Fêng Ngan, between whom there existed an old feud. The former, however, was the
stronger of the two; and accordingly Fêng disguised his feelings under a
specious appearance of friendship, though Hu never placed much faith in his
professions. One day they were drinking together, and being both of them rather
the worse for liquor, they began to brag of the various exploits they had
achieved. “What care I for poverty,” cried Hu, “when I can lay a hundred ounces
of silver on the table at a moment’s notice?” Now Fêng was well aware of the
state of Hu’s affairs, and did not hesitate to scout such pretensions, until Hu
further informed him in perfect seriousness that the day before he had met a
merchant travelling with a large sum of money and had tumbled him down a dry
well by the wayside; in confirmation of which he produced several hundred
ounces of silver, which really belonged to a brother-in-law on whose behalf he
was managing some negotiations for the purchase of land.
When they separated, Fêng went off and gave information to
the magistrate of the place, who summoned Hu to answer to the charge. Hu then
told the actual facts of the case, and his brother-in-law and the owner of the
land in question corroborated his statement. However, on examining the dry well
by letting a man down with.a rope round him, lo! there was a headless corpse lying
at the bottom. Hu was horrified at this, and called Heaven to witness that he
was innocent; whereupon the magistrate ordered him twenty or thirty blows on
the mouth for lying in the presence of such irrefragable proof, and cast him
into the condemned cell, where he lay loaded with chains.
Orders were issued that the corpse was not to be removed,
and a notification was made to the people, calling upon the relatives of the
deceased to come forward and claim the body. Next day a woman appeared, and
said deceased was her husband; that his name was Ho, and that he was proceeding
on business with a large sum of money about him when he was killed by Hu. The
magistrate observed that possibly the body in the well might not be that of her
[p. 455] husband, to which the woman replied that she felt sure it was; and
accordingly the corpse was brought up and examined, when the woman’s story was
found to be correct. She herself did not go near the body, but stood at a
little distance making the most doleful lamentations; until at length the
magistrate said, “We have got the murderer, but the body is not complete; you
go home and wait until the head has been discovered, when life shall be given
for life.”
He then summoned Hu before him, and told him to produce
the head by the next day under penalty of severe torture; but Hu only wandered
about with the guard sent in charge of him, crying and lamenting his fate, but
finding nothing. The instruments of torture were then produced, and
preparations were made as if for torturing Hu; however, they were not applied,1
and finally the magistrate sent him back to prison, saying, “I suppose that in
your hurry you didn’t notice where you dropped the head.” The woman was then
brought before him again; and on learning that her relatives consisted only of
one uncle, the magistrate remarked, “A young woman like you, left alone in the
world, will hardly be able to earn a livelihood. [Here she burst into tears and
implored the magistrate’s pity.] The punishment of the guilty man has been already
decided upon, but until we get the head, the case cannot be closed. As soon as
it is closed, the best thing you can do is to marry again. A young woman like
yourself should not be in and out of a police court.” The woman thanked the
magistrate and retired; and the latter issued a notice to the people, calling
upon them to make a search for the head.
On the following day, a man named Wang, a fellow villager
of the deceased, reported that he had found the missing head; and his report
proving to be true, he was rewarded with 1000 cash. The magistrate now summoned the woman’s uncle above
mentioned, and told him that the case was complete, but that as it involved
such an important matter as the life of a human being, there would necessarily
be some delay in closing it for good and all.2 [p. 456] “Meanwhile,” added the
magistrate, “your niece is a young woman and has no children; persuade her to
marry again and so keep herself out of these troubles, and never mind what
people may say.”3 The uncle at first refused
to do this; upon which the magistrate was obliged to threaten him, until he was
ultimately forced to consent.
At this, the woman appeared before the magistrate to thank
him for what he had done; whereupon the latter gave out that any person who was
willing to take the woman to wife was to present himself at his yamên.
Immediately afterwards an application was made—by the very man who had found
the head. The magistrate then sent for the woman and asked her if she could say
who was the real murderer; to which she replied that Hu Ch‘êng had done the
deed. “No!” cried the magistrate; “it was not he. It was you and this man here.
[Here both began loudly to protest their innocence.] I have long known this;
but, fearing to leave the smallest loophole for escape, I have tarried thus
long in elucidating the circumstances. How [to the woman], before the corpse
was removed from the well, were you so certain that it was your husband’s body?
Because you already knew he was dead.
And does a trader who has several hundred ounces of silver about him dress as
shabbily as your husband was dressed? And you [to the man], how did you manage
to find the head so readily? Because you
were in a hurry to marry the woman.”
The two culprits stood there as pale as death, unable to
utter a word in their defence; and on the application of torture both confessed
the crime. For this man, the woman’s paramour, had killed her husband,
curiously enough, about the time of Hu Ch‘êng’s braggart joke. He was
accordingly released, but Fêng suffered the penalty of a false accuser; he was
severely bambooed, and banished for three years. The case was thus brought to a
close without the wrongful punishment of a single person. [p. 457]
1 See No. LXXIII, note 2.
2 There is a widespread belief that human life in China is
held at a cheap rate. This may be accounted for by the fact that death is the
legal punishment for many crimes not considered capital in the West; and by the
severe measures that are always taken in cases of rebellion, when the innocent
and guilty are often indiscriminately massacred. In times of tranquillity,
however, this is not the case; and the execution of a criminal is surrounded by
a number of formalities which go far to prevent the shedding of innocent blood.
The Hsi yüan lu (see No. XIV., note
8) opens with the words, “There is nothing more important than human life.”
3 See No. LXVII., note 1.
CLVII. THE RUKH
Two herons built their nest under one of the ornaments on
the roof of a temple at Tientsin. The accumulated dust of years in the shrine
below concealed a huge serpent, having the diameter of a washing-basin; and
whenever the herons’ young were ready to fly, the reptile proceeded to the nest
and swallowed every one of them, to the great distress of the bereaved parents.
This took place three years consecutively, and people thought the birds would
build there no more.
However, the following year they came again; and when the
time was drawing nigh for their young ones to take wing, away they flew, and
remained absent for nearly three days. On their return, they went straight to
the nest, and began amidst much noisy chattering to feed their young ones as
usual. Just then the serpent crawled up to reach his prey; and as he was
nearing the nest the parent-birds flew out and screamed loudly in mid-air.
Immediately, there was heard a mighty flapping of wings, and darkness came over
the face of the earth, which the astonished spectators now perceived to be
caused by a huge bird obscuring the light of the sun. Down it swooped with the
speed of wind or falling rain, and, striking the serpent with its talons, tore
its head off at a blow, bringing down at the same time several feet of the
masonry of the temple.
Then it flew away, the herons accompanying it as though
escorting a guest. The nest too had come down, and of the two young birds one
was killed by the fall; the other was taken by the priests and put in the bell
tower, whither the old birds returned to feed it until thoroughly fledged, when
it spread its wings and was gone.1 [p. 458]
1 This story is inserted chiefly in illustration of the
fact that all countries have a record of some enormous bird such as the rukh of The Arabian Nights.
CLVIII. THE FAITHFUL
GANDER[1]
A SPORTSMAN of Tientsin, having snared a wild goose, was
followed to his home by the gander, which flew round and round him in great
distress, and only went away at nightfall. Next day, when the sportsman went
out, there was the bird again; and at length it alighted quite close to his
feet. He was on the point of seizing it when suddenly it stretched out its neck
and disgorged a piece of pure gold; whereupon, the sportsman, understanding
what the bird meant, cried out, “I see! this is to ransom your mate, eh?”
Accordingly, he at once released the goose, and the two birds flew away with
many expressions of their mutual joy, leaving to the sportsman nearly three
ounces of pure gold.
Can, then, mere birds have such feelings as these? Of all
sorrows there is no sorrow like separation from those we love; and it seems
that the same holds good even of dumb animals.
1 See No. XXXV., note 3.
CLIX. THE ELEPHANTS AND THE
LION
A HUNTSMAN of Kuang-si, who was out on the hills with his
bow and arrows, lay down to rest awhile, and unwittingly fell fast asleep. As
he was slumbering, an elephant came up, and, coiling his trunk around the man,
carried him off. The latter gave himself up for dead; but before long the
elephant had deposited him at the foot of a tall tree, and had summoned up a
whole herd of comrades, who crowded about the huntsman as though asking his
assistance. The elephant who had brought him went and lay down under the tree,
and first looked up into its branches and then looked down at the man,
apparently requesting him to get up into the tree. So the latter jumped on the
elephant’s back and then clambered up to the topmost branch, not knowing what
he was expected to do next.
By-and-by a lion[1] arrived, and from among the frightened
herd [p. 459] chose out a fat elephant, which he seemed as though about to
devour. The others remained there trembling, not daring to run away, but
looking wistfully up into the tree. Thereupon the huntsman drew an arrow from
his quiver and shot the lion dead, at which all the elephants below made him a
grateful obeisance. He then descended, when the elephant lay down again and
invited him to mount by pulling at his clothes with its trunk. This he did, and
was carried to a place where the animal scratched the ground with its foot, and
revealed to him a vast number of old tusks. He jumped down and collected them
in a bundle, after which the elephant conveyed him to a spot whence he easily
found his way home.2
1 The term here used refers to a creature which partakes
rather of the fabulous than of the real. The Kuang yün says it is “a kind of lion;” but other authorities
describe it as a horse. Its favourite food is tiger-flesh. Incense-burners are
often made after the “lion” pattern and called by this name, the smoke of the
incense issuing from the mouth of the animal, like our own gargoyles.
2 Compare the elephant story in the seventh voyage of
Es-Sindibàd of the Sea (Lane’s Arabian
Nights, vol. iii., p. 77).
CLX. THE HIDDEN TREASURE
LI YÜEH-SHÊNG was a second son of a rich old man who used
to bury his money, and who was known to his fellow-townsmen as “Old Crocks.”
One day the father fell sick, and summoned his sons to divide the property
between them.1 He gave four-fifths to the elder and only one-fifth to the
younger, saying to the latter, “It is not that I love your brother more than I
love you: I have other money stored away, and when you are alone I will hand
that over to you.”
A few days afterwards the old man grew worse, and
Yüeh-shêng, afraid that his father might die at any moment, seized an
opportunity of seeing him alone to ask about the money that he himself was to
receive. “All,” replied the dying man, “the sum of our joys and of our sorrows
is determined by fate. You are now happy in the possession of a virtuous wife,
and have no right to an increase of wealth.” For, as a matter of fact, this
second son was married to a lady from the Ch‘ê family whose virtue equalled
that of any of the heroines of history: hence his father’s remark. Yüeh-shêng,
however, was not satisfied, and implored to be [p. 460] allowed to have the
money; and at length the old man got angry and said, “You are only just turned
twenty; you have known none of the trials of life, and were I to give a
thousand ounces of gold, it would soon be all spent. Go! and, until you have
drunk the cup of bitterness to its dregs, expect no money from me.” Now
Yüeh-shêng was a filial son, and when his father spoke thus he did not venture
to say any more, and hoped for his speedy recovery, that he might have a chance
of coaxing him to comply with his request.
But the old man got worse and worse, and at length died;
whereupon the elder brother took no trouble about the funeral ceremonies,
leaving it all to the younger, who, being an open-handed fellow, made no
difficulties about the expense. The latter was also fond of seeing a great deal
of company at his house, and his wife often had to get three or four meals a
day ready for guests; and, as her husband did very little towards looking after
his affairs, and was further sponged upon by all the needy ones of the
neighbourhood, they were soon reduced to a state of poverty. The elder brother
helped them to keep body and soul together, but he died shortly afterwards, and
this resource was cut off from them.
Then, by dint of borrowing in the spring and repaying in
the autumn,2 they still managed to exist, until at last it came to parting with
their land, and they were left actually destitute. At that juncture their
eldest son died, followed soon after by his mother; and Yüeh-shêng was left
almost by himself in the world.
He now married the widow of a sheep-dealer, who had a
little capital; and she was very strict with him, and wouldn’t let him waste
time and money with his friends. One night his father appeared to him and said,
“My son, you have drained your cup of bitterness to the dregs, You shall now
have the money. I will bring it to you.” When Yüeh-shêng woke up, he thought it
was merely a poor man’s dream; but the next day, while laying the foundations
of a wall, he did come upon a quantity of gold. And then he knew what his father
had meant by “when you are alone;” for of those about him at that time, more
than half were gone.
1 All sons, whether by wife or concubine, share equally,
and in preference to daughters, even though there should be a written will in
favour of the latter, the power of bequeathing by will, except as regards
trifling matters of detail, being practically non-existent.
2 This has reference to the “seed-time and harvest.” [p.
461]
CLXI. THE BOATMEN OF LAO-LUNG
WHEN His Excellency Chu was Viceroy of Kuang-tong, there
were constant complaints from the traders of mysterious disappearances;
sometimes as many as three or four of them disappearing at once and never being
seen or heard of again. At length the number of such cases, filed of course
against some person or persons unknown, multiplied to such an extent that they
were simply put on record, and but little notice was further taken of them by
the local officials. Thus, when His Excellency entered upon his duties, he
found more than a hundred plaints of the kind, besides innumerable cases in
which the missing man’s relatives lived at a distance and had not instituted
proceedings.
The mystery so preyed upon the new Viceroy’s mind that he
lost all appetite for food; and when, finally, all the inquiries he had set on
foot resulted in no clue to an elucidation of these strange disappearances,
then His Excellency proceeded to wash and purify himself, and, having notified
the Municipal God,1 he took to fasting and sleeping in his study alone. While
he was in ecstasy, lo! an official entered, holding a tablet in his hand, and
said that he had come from the Municipal temple with the following instructions
to the Viceroy:—
Snow on the whiskers descending:
Live clouds falling from heaven:
Wood in water buoyed up:
In the wall an opening effected.
The official then retired, and the Viceroy waked up; but
it was only after a night of tossing and turning that he hit upon what seemed
to him the solution of the enigma. “The first line,” argued he, “must signify
old [lao in Chinese]; the second
refers to the dragon[2] [lung in Chinese]; the third is clearly a
boat; and the fourth a door [here taken in its secondary sense—man].”
Now, to the east of the province, not far from the pass by
which traders from the north connect their line of trade with the southern [p.
462] seas, there was actually a ferry known as the Old Dragon (Lao-lung); and
thither the Viceroy immediately despatched a force to arrest those employed in
carrying people backwards and forwards. More than fifty men were caught, and
they all confessed at once without the application of torture. In fact, they
were bandits under the guise of boatmen;3 and after beguiling passengers on
board, they would either drug them or burn stupefying incense until they were
senseless, finally cutting them open and putting a large stone inside to make
the body sink.
Such was the horrible story, the discovery of which
brought throngs to the Viceroy’s door to serenade him in terms of gratitude and
praise.4
1 See No. I., note 1.
2 Clouds being naturally connected in every Chinaman’s
mind with these fabulous creatures, the origin of which has been traced by some
to waterspouts. See No. LXXXI., note 2.
3 “Boat-men” is the solution of the last two lines of the
enigma.
4 The author actually supplies a list of the persons who
signed a congratulatory petition to the Viceroy on the arrest and punishment of
the criminals.
CLXII. THE PIOUS SURGEON
A CERTAIN veterinary surgeon, named Hou, was carrying food
to his field labourers, when suddenly a whirlwind arose in his path. Hou seized
a spoon and poured out a libation of gruel, whereupon the wind immediately
dropped. On another occasion, he was wandering about the municipal temple when
he noticed an image of Liu Ch‘üan presenting the melon,1 in whose eye was a
great splotch of dirt. “Dear me, Sir Liu!” cried Hou, “who has been ill-using
you like this?” He then scraped away the dirt with his finger-nail, and passed
on.
Some years afterwards, as he was lying down very ill, two
lictors walked in and carried him off to a yamên, where they insisted on his
bribing them heavily. Hou was at his wit’s end what to do; but just [p. 463] at
that moment a personage dressed in green robes came forth, who was greatly
astonished at seeing him there, and asked what it all meant. Our hero at once
explained; whereupon the man in green turned upon the lictors and abused them
for not showing proper respect to Mr. Hou.
Meanwhile a drum sounded like the roll of thunder, and the
man in green told Hou that it was for the morning session, and that he would
have to attend. Leading Hou within, he put him in his proper place, and,
promising to inquire into the charge against him, went forward and whispered a
few words to one of the clerks. “Oh,” said the latter, advancing and making a
bow to the veterinary surgeon, “yours is a trifling matter. We shall merely
have to confront you with a horse, and then you can go home again.”
Shortly afterwards, Hou’s case was called; upon which he
went forward and knelt down, as did also a horse which was prosecuting him. The
judge now informed Hou that he was accused by the horse of having caused its
death by medicines, and asked him if he pleaded guilty or not guilty. “My
lord,” replied Hou, “the prosecutor was attacked by the cattle-plague, for
which I treated him accordingly; and he actually recovered from the disease,
though he died on the following day. Am I to be held responsible for that ?”
The horse now proceeded to tell his story; and after the usual
cross-examination and cries for justice, the judge gave orders to look up the
horse’s term of life in the Book of Fate. Therein it appeared that the animal’s
destiny had doomed it to death on the very day on which it had died; whereupon
the judge cried out, “Your term of years had already expired; why bring this
false charge? Away with you!” and turning to Hou, the judge added, “You are a
worthy man, and may be permitted to live.”
The lictors were accordingly instructed to escort him
back, and with them went out both the clerk and the man in green clothes, who
bade the lictors take every possible care of Hou by the way. “You gentlemen are
very kind,” said Hou, “but I haven’t the honour of your acquaintance, .and
should be glad to know to whom I am so much indebted.” “Three years ago,”
replied the man in green, “I was travelling in your neighbourhood, and was
suffering very much from thirst, which you relieved for me by a few spoonfuls
of gruel. I have not forgotten [p. 464] that act.” “And my name,” observed the
other, “is Liu Ch‘üan. You once took a splotch of dirt out of my eye that was
troubling me very much. I am only sorry that the wine and food we have down
here is unsuitable to offer you. Farewell.” Hou now understood all that had
happened, and went off home with the two lictors, where he would have regaled
them with some refreshment, but they refused to take even a cup of tea. He then
waked up and found that he had been dead for two days.
From this time forth he led a more virtuous life than
ever, always pouring out libations to Liu Ch‘üan at all the festivals of the
year. Thus he reached the age of eighty, a hale and hearty man, still able to
sit in the saddle; until one day he met Liu Ch‘üan riding on horseback, as if
about to make a long journey. After a little friendly conversation, the latter
said to him, “Your time is up, and the warrant for your arrest is already
issued; but I have ordered the constables to delay awhile, and you can now
spend three days in preparing for death, at the expiration of which I will come
and fetch you. I have purchased a small appointment for you in the realms
below,2 by which you will be more comfortable.” So Hou went home and told his
wife and children; and after collecting his friends and relatives, and making
all necessary preparations, on the evening of the fourth day he cried out, “Liu
Ch‘üan has come!” and, getting into his coffin,3 lay down and died.
1 When the soul of the Emperor T‘ai Tsung of the Tang
dynasty was in the infernal regions, it promised to send Yen-lo (the Chinese Yama or Pluto) a melon; and when His
Majesty recovered from the trance into which he had been plunged, he gave
orders that his promise was to be fulfilled. Just then a man, named Liu Ch‘üan,
observed a priest with a hairpin belonging to his wife, and misconstruing the
manner in which possession of it had been obtained, abused his wife so severely
that she committed suicide. Liu Ch‘üan himself then determined to follow her
example, and convey the melon to Yen-lo; for which act he was subsequently
deified. See the Hsi yu chi, Section
XI.
2 As the Chinese believe that their disembodied spirits
proceed to a world organised on much the same model as the one they know, so do
they think that there will be social distinctions of rank and emolument
proportioned to the merits of each.
3 A dying man is almost always moved into his coffin to
die; and aged persons frequently take to sleeping regularly in the coffins
provided against the inevitable hour by the pious thoughtfulness of a loving
son. Even in middle life Chinese like to see their coffins ready for them, and
store them sometimes on their own premises, sometimes in the outhouses of a
neighbouring temple.
CLXIII. ANOTHER SOLOMON
AT T‘ai-yüan there lived a middle-aged woman with her
widowed daughter-in-law. The former was on terms of too great intimacy with a
notably bad character of the [p. 465] neighbourhood; and the latter, who
objected very strongly to this, did her best to keep the man from the house.
The elder woman accordingly tried to send the other back to her family, but she
would not go; and at length things came to such a pass that the mother-in-law
actually went to the mandarin of the place and charged her daughter-in-law with
the offence she herself was committing. When the mandarin inquired the name of
the man concerned, she said she had only seen him in the dark and didn’t know
who he was, referring him for information to the accused. The latter, on being
summoned, gave the man’s name, but retorted the charge on her mother-in-law;
and when the man was confronted with them, he promptly declared both their
stories to be false. The mandarin, however, said there was a primâ facie case against him, and
ordered him to be severely beaten, whereupon he confessed that it was the
daughter-in-law whom he went to visit. This the woman herself flatly denied,
even under torture; and on being released, appealed to a higher court, with a
very similar result.
Thus the case dragged on, until a Mr. Sun, who was well
known for his judicial acumen, was appointed district magistrate at that place.
Calling the parties before him, he bade his lictors prepare stones and knives,
at which they were much exercised in their minds, the severest tortures allowed
by law being merely gyves and fetters.1 However, everything was got ready, and
the next day Mr. Sun proceeded with his investigation. After hearing all that
each one of the three had to say, he delivered the following judgment:—“The
case is a simple one; for although I cannot say which of you two women is the
guilty one, there is no doubt about the man, who has evidently been the means
of bringing discredit on a virtuous family. Take those stones and knives there
and put him to death. I will be responsible.” Thereupon the two women began to
stone the man, especially the younger one, who seized the biggest stones she
could see and threw them at him with all the might of her pent-up anger; while
the mother-in-law chose small stones and struck him on non-vital parts.2 So
with the knives: the [p. 466] daughter-in-law would have killed him at the first
blow, had not the mandarin stopped her, and said, “Hold! I now know who is the
guilty woman.” The mother-in-law was then tortured until she confessed, and the
case was thus terminated.
1 See No. LXXIII., note 2.
2 The Chinese distinguish sixteen vital spots on the front
of the body and six on the back, with thirty-six and twenty non-vital spots in
similar positions, respectively. They allow, however, that a severe blow on a
non-vital spot might cause death, and vice
versâ.
CLXIV. THE INCORRUPT OFFICIAL
MR. Wu, Sub-prefect of Chi-nan, was an upright man, and
would have no share in the bribery and corruption which was extensively carried
on, and at which the higher authorities connived, and in the proceeds of which
they actually shared. The Prefect tried to bully him into adopting a similar
plan, and went so far as to abuse him in violent language, upon which Mr. Wu
fired up and exclaimed, “Though I am but a subordinate official, you should
impeach me for anything you have against me in the regular way; you have not
the right to abuse me thus. Die I may, but I will never consent to degrade my
office and turn aside the course of justice for the sake of filthy lucre.” At
this outbreak the Prefect changed his tone, and tried to soothe him. . . . [How
dare people accuse the age of being corrupt, when it is themselves who will not
walk in the straight path.]
One day after this a certain fox-medium[1] came to the
Prefect’s yamên just as a feast was in full swing, and was thus addressed by a
guest:—“You who pretend to know everything, say how many officials there are in
this Prefecture.” “One,” replied the
medium; at which the company laughed heartily, until the medium continued,
“There are really seventy-two holders of office, but Mr. Sub-prefect Wu is the
only one who can justly be called an official.”
1 Certain classes of soothsayers are believed by the
Chinese to be possessed by foxes, which animals have the power of looking into
the future, &c., &c.
APPENDIX I.
THE YÜ LI CH‘AO CHUAN
VISITORS to Chinese temples of the Taoist persuasion
usually make at once for what is popularly known amongst foreigners as the
“Chamber of Horrors.” These belong specially to Taoism, or the ethics of Right
in the abstract, as opposed to abstract Wrong, and are not found in temples consecrated
to the religion of Buddha. Modern Taoism, however, once a purely metaphysical
system, is now so leavened with the superstitions of Buddhism, and has borrowed
so much material from its younger rival, that an ordinary Chinaman can hardly
tell one from the other, and generally regards them as to all intents and
purposes the same. These rightly-named Chambers of Horrors—for Madame Tussaud
has nothing more ghastly to show in the whole of her wonderful
collection—represent the Ten Courts of Purgatory, through some or all of which
erring souls must pass before they are suffered to be born again into the world
under another form, or transferred to the eternal bliss reserved for the
righteous alone. As a description of these Ten Courts may not be uninteresting
to some of my readers, and as the subject has a direct bearing upon many of the
stories in the previous collection, I hereto append my translation of a
well-known Taoist work[1] which is circulated gratuitously all over the Chinese
Empire by people who are anxious to lay up a store of good works against the
day of reckoning to come. Those who are acquainted with Dante’s Divine Comedy will recollect that the
poet’s idea of a Christian Purgatory was a series of nine lessening circles
arranged one above the other, so as to form a cone. The Taoist believes that
his Purgatory consists of Ten Courts of justice situated in different positions
at the bottom of a great ocean which lies down in the depths of the earth.
These are subdivided into special wards, different forms of torture being
inflicted in each. A perusal of this work will show what punishments the wicked
Chinaman has to expect in the unseen world, and by what means he may hope to
obtain a partial or complete remission of his sins.
The Divine Panorama,
published by the Mercy of Yü Ti,2
that Men and Women may repent them of their faults
and make Atonement for their Crimes.
On the birthday of the Saviour P‘u-sa,3 as the spirits of
Purgatory were thronging round to offer their congratulations, the ruler of the
Infernal Regions spake as follows:—“My wish is to release all souls, and every
moon as this day comes round I would wholly
1 The Yü Li Ch‘ao
Chuan; or Divine Panorama.
2 The Divine Ruler, immediately below God Himself.
3 See No. XXVI. note 5.
[p. 468]
or partially remit the punishment of erring shades,
and give them life once more in one of the Six Paths.4 But alas! the wicked are
many and the virtuous few. Nevertheless, the punishments in the dark region are
too severe, and require some modification. Any wicked soul that repents and
induces one or two others to do likewise shall be allowed to set this off
against the punishments which should be inflicted.”
The Judges of the Ten Courts of Purgatory then agreed that
all who led virtuous lives from their youth upwards shall be escorted at their
death to the land of the Immortals; that all whose balance of good and evil is
exact shall escape the bitterness of the Three States,5 and be born again among
men; that those who have repaid their debts of gratitude and friendship, and
fulfilled their destiny, yet have a balance of evil against them, shall pass
through the various Courts of Purgatory and then be born again amongst men,
rich, poor, old, young, diseased or crippled, to be put a second time upon
trial. Then, if they behave well they may enter into some happy state; but if
badly, they will be dragged by horrid devils through all the Courts, suffering
bitterly as they go, and will again be born, to endure in life the uttermost of
poverty and wretchedness, in death the everlasting tortures of hell. Those who
are disloyal, unfilial, who commit suicide, take life, or disbelieve the
doctrine of Cause and Effect,6 saying to themselves that when a man dies there
is an end of him, that when he has lost his skin[7] he has already suffered the
worst that can befall him, that living men can be tortured, but no one ever saw
a man’s ghost in the pillory, that after death all is unknown, &c.,
&c.,—truly these men do not know that the body alone perishes but the soul
lives for ever and ever; and that whatsoever evil they do in this life, the
same will be done unto them in the life to come. All who commit such crimes are
handed over to the everlasting tortures of hell; for alas! in spite of the
teachings of the Three Systems[8] some will persist in regarding these warnings
as vain and empty talk. Lightly they speak of Divine mercy, and knowingly
commit many crimes, not more than one in a hundred ever coming to repentance.
Therefore the punishments of Purgatory were strictly carried out and the
tortures dreadfully severe.
But now it has been mercifully ordained that any man or
woman, young, old, weak or strong, who may have sinned in any way, shall be
permitted to obtain remission of the same by keeping his or her thoughts
constantly fixed on P‘u-sa and on the birthdays of the judges of the Ten
Courts, by fasting and prayer, and by vows never to sin again. Or for every
good work done in life they shall be allowed to escape one ward in the Courts
below. From this rule to be excepted disloyal ministers, unfilial sons,
suicides, those who plot in secret against good people, those who are struck by
lightning (lit. thunder), those who
perish by flood or fire, by wild animals or poisonous reptiles[9]—these to pass
through all the Courts and be punished according to their deserts. All other
sinners to be allowed to claim their good works as a set-off against
4 See Author’s Own
Record (in Introduction), note
28.
5 The three worst of the Six Paths.
6 That the state of one life is the result of behaviour in
a previous existence.
7 Lit.—the skin
purse (of his bones).
8 Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism.
9 Violent deaths are regarded with horror by the Chinese.
They hold that a truly virtuous man always dies either of illness or old age. [p. 469]
evil, thus partly escaping the agonies of hell and
receiving some reward for their virtuous deeds.
This account of man’s wickedness on the earth and the
punishments in store for him was written in language intelligible to every man and
woman, and was submitted for the approval of P‘u-sa, the intention being to
wait the return[10] of some virtuous soul among the sons of men, and by these
means publish it all over the earth. When P‘u-sa saw what had been done, he
said it was good; and on the 3rd of the 8th moon proceeded with the ten judges
of Purgatory to lay this book before God.[11]
Then God said, “Good indeed! Good indeed! Henceforth let
all spirits take note of any mortal who vows to lead a virtuous life and,
repenting, promises to sin no more. Two punishments shall be remitted him. And
if, in addition to this, he succeeds in doing five virtuous acts, then he shall
escape all punishment and be born again in some happy state—if a woman she
shall be born as a man.[A] But more than five virtuous acts shall enable such a
soul to obtain the salvation of others, and redeem wife and family from the
tortures of hell. Let these regulations be published in the Divine Panorama and circulated on earth
by the spirits of the City Guardians.12 In fear and trembling obey this decree
and carry it reverently into effect.”
THE FIRST COURT
His Infernal Majesty Ch‘in Kuang is specially in charge of
the register of life and death both for old and young, and presides at the
judgment-seat in the lower regions. His court is situated in the great Ocean,
away beyond the Wu-chiao rock,13 far to the west near the murky road which
leads to the Yellow Springs.14 Every man and woman dying in old age whose fate
it is to be born again into the world, if their tale of good and evil works is
equally balanced, are sent to the First Court, and thence transferred back to
Life, male becoming female, female male, rich poor, and poor rich, according to
their several deserts. But those whose good deeds are outnumbered by their bad
are sent to a terrace on the right of the Court, called the Terrace of the
Mirror of Sin, ten feet in height. The mirror is about fifty feet[15] in
circumference and hangs towards the east. Above are seven characters written
horizontally:—“Sin Mirror Terrace upon no good men.” There the wicked souls are
able to see the naughtiness of their own hearts while they were among the
living, and the danger of death and hell. Then do they realise the proverb,—
Ten thousand taels of yellow gold cannot be brought away:
But ev’ery crime will tell its tale upon the judgment day.
When the souls have been to the Terrace and seen
their wickednesses, they are forwarded into the Second Court, where they are
tortured and dismissed to the proper hell.
Should there be any one enjoying life without reflecting
that Heaven and Earth produce mortals, that father and mother bring
10 Good people go to Purgatory in the flesh, and are at
once passed up to Heaven without suffering any torture, or are sent back to
earth again.
11 The Supreme Ruler.
12 See No. I., note 1.
13 Supposed to be the gate of the Infernal Regions.
14 Hades.
15 Literally “ten armfuls.”
[A] No sexism here! I’m reminded of Chinese genealogists,
who say that they find lines of ancestors extending back into deep antiquity—but
only the names of the men are preserved.
[p. 470]
the child to maturity—truly no easy matter; and,
ignoring the four obligations,16 before receiving the summons, lightly sever
the thread of their own existence by cutting their throats, hanging, poisoning,
or drowning themselves:—then such suicides, if the deed was not done out of
loyalty, filial piety, chastity, or friendship, for which they would go to
Heaven, but in a trivial burst of rage, or fearing the consequences of a crime
which would not amount to death, or in the hope of falsely injuring a
fellow-creature—then such suicides, when the last breath has left their bodies,
shall be escorted to this Court by the Spirits of the Threshold and of the
Hearth. They shall be placed in the Hunger and Thirst Section, and every day
from seven till eleven o’clock they will resume their mortal coil, and suffer
again the pain and bitterness of death.
After seventy days, or one or two years, as the case may
be, they will be conducted back to the scene of their suicide, but will not be
permitted to taste the funeral meats, or avail themselves of the usual
offerings to the dead. Bitterly will they repent, unable as they will be to
render themselves visible and frighten people,17 vainly striving to procure a
substitute.18 For when the substitute shall have been harmlessly entrapped, the
Spirits of the Threshold and Hearth will reconduct the erring soul back to this
Court, whence it will be sent on to the Second Court, where its balance of good
and evil will be struck, and dreadful tortures applied, being finally passed on
through the Various Courts to the utter misery of hell. Should any one have
such intention of suicide and thus threaten a fellow creature, even though he
does not commit the act but continues to live not without virtue, yet shall it
not be permitted in any way to remit his punishment. Any soul which after
suicide shall not remain invisible, but shall frighten people to death, will be
seized by black-faced, long-tusked devils and tortured in the various hells, to
be finally thrust into the great Gehenna, for ever to remain hung up in chains,
and not permitted to be born again.
Every Buddhist or Taoist priest who receives money for
prayers and liturgies, but skips over words and misses out sentences, on
arriving at this, the First Court, will be sent to the section for the
completion of Prayer, and there in a small dark room he shall pick out such
passages as he has omitted, and make good the deficiency as best he can, by the
uncertain light of an infinitesimal wick burning in a gallon of oil. Even good
and virtuous priests must also repair any omissions they may have
(accidentally) made, and so must every man or woman who in private devotion may
have omitted or wrongly repeated any part of the sacred writings from
over-earnestness, their attention not being properly fixed on the actual words
they repeat. The same applies to female priests. A dispensation from Buddha to
remit such punishment is put in force on the first day of each month when the names
are entered in the register of the virtuous.
16 To Heaven, Earth, sovereign, and relatives.
17 Held to be a great relief to the spirits of the dead.
18 It is commonly believed that if the spirit of a murdered
man can secure the violent death of some other person he returns to earth again
as if nothing had happened, the spirit of his victim passing into the world
below and suffering all the misery of a disembodied soul in his stead. See No.
XLV., note 8. [p. 471]
O ye dwellers upon earth, on the 1st day of the 2nd
moon, fasting turn to the north and make oath to abstain from evil and fix your
thoughts on good, that ye may escape hell! The precepts of Buddha are
circulated over the whole world to warn mankind to believe and repent, that
when the last hour comes their spirits may be escorted by dark-robed boys to
realms of bliss and happiness in the west.
THE SECOND COURT
His Infernal Majesty Ch‘u Chiang reigns at the bottom of
the great Ocean. Away to the south, below the Wu-chiao rocks, he has a vast
hell, many leagues in extent, and subdivided into sixteen wards, as follows:—
In the first, nothing but black clouds and constant
sand-storms. In the second, mud and filth. In the third, chevaux de frise. In the fourth, gnawing hunger. In the fifth, burning
thirst. In the sixth, blood and pus. In the seventh, the shades are plunged
into a brazen cauldron (of boiling water). In the eighth, the same punishment
is repeated many times. In the ninth, they are put into iron clothes. In the
tenth, they are stretched on a rack to regulation length. In the eleventh, they
are pecked by fowls. In the twelfth, they have only rivers of lime to drink. In
the thirteenth they are hacked to pieces. In the fourteenth, the leaves of the
trees are as sharp as sword-points. In the fifteenth they are pursued by foxes
and wolves. In the sixteenth, all is ice and snow.
Those, who lead astray young boys and girls, and then
escape punishment by cutting off their hair and entering the priesthood;19
those who filch letters, pictures, books, &c., entrusted to their care, and
then pretend to have lost them; those who injure a fellow-creature’s ear, eye,
hand, foot, fingers, or toes; those who practise as doctors without any
knowledge of the medical art; those who will not ransom grown-up slave-girls;20
those who, contracting marriage for the sake of gain, falsely state their ages;
or those who in cases of betrothal, before actual marriage, find out that one
of the contracting parties is a bad character, and yet do not come forward to
say so, but inflict an irreparable wrong on the innocent one;—such offenders,
when their quota of crime has been cast up, their youth or age and the
consequences of their acts taken into consideration, will be seized by horrid
red-faced devils and thrust into the great Hell, and thence despatched to the
particular ward in which they are to be tormented. When their time of suffering
there has expired, they will be moved into the Third Court, there to be
tortured and passed on to Gehenna.
O ye men and women of the world, take this book and warn
all sinners, or copy it out and circulate it for general information! If
19 A very common trick in China. The drunken bully Lu Ta in
the celebrated novel Shui-hu saved
himself by these means, and I have heard that the Mandarin who in the war of
1842 spent a large sum in constructing a paddle-wheel steamer to be worked by
men, hoping thereby to match the wheel-ships of the Outer Barbarians, is now
expiating his failure at a monastery in Fukien. A propos of which, it may not be generally known at this moment
(1880) there are small paddle-wheel boats for Chinese passengers, plying up and
down the Canton River, the wheels of which are turned by gangs of coolies, who
perform a movement precisely similar to that required on the treadmill.
20 In order that their marriage destiny may not be
interfered with. It is considered disgraceful not to accept the ransom of a
slave girl of fifteen or sixteen years of age. See No. XXVI., note 8. [p. 472]
you see people sick and ill, give medicine to heal
them. If you see people poor and hungry, feed them. If you see people in
difficulties, give money to save them. Repent your past errors, and you will be
allowed to cancel that evil by future good, so that when the hour arrives you
will pass at once into the Tenth Court, and thence return again to existence on
earth.
Let such as love all creatures endowed with life, and do
not recklessly cut and slay, but teach their children not to harm small animals
and insects let these, on the 1st of the 3rd moon, register an oath not to take
life, but to aid in preserving it. Thus they will avoid passing through
Purgatory, and will also enter at once the Tenth Hall, to be born again in some
happy state.
THE THIRD COURT
His Infernal Majesty Sung Ti reigns at the bottom of the
great Ocean, away to the south-east, below the Wu-chiao rock, in the Gehenna of
Black Ropes. This Hall is many leagues wide, and is subdivided into sixteen
wards, as follows:—
In the first everything is Salt; above, below, and all
round, the eye rests upon Salt alone. The shades feed upon it, and suffer
horrid torments in consequence. When the fit has passed away they return to it
once again, and suffer agonies more unutterable than before. In the second, the
erring shades are bound with cords and carry heavily-weighted cangues. In the third, they are
perpetually pierced through the ribs. In the fourth, their faces are scraped
with iron and copper knives. In the fifth, their fat is scraped away from their
bodies. In the sixth, their hearts and livers are squeezed with pincers. In the
seventh, their eyes are gouged. In the eighth, they are flayed. In the ninth,
their feet are cut off. In the tenth, their finger-nails and toe-nails are
pulled out. In the eleventh, their blood is sucked. In the twelfth, they are
hung up head downwards. In the thirteenth, their shoulder-bones are split. In
the fourteenth, they are tormented by insects and reptiles. In the fifteenth,
they are beaten on the thighs. In the sixteenth, their hearts are scratched.
Those who enjoy the light of day without reflecting on the
Imperial bounty;21 officers of State who revel in large emoluments without
reciprocating their sovereign’s goodness; private individuals who do not repay
the debt of water and earth;22 wives and concubines who slight their marital
lords; those who fail in their duties as acting sons,23 or such as reap what
advantages there are and then go off to their own homes; slaves who disregard
their masters; official underlings who are ungrateful to their superiors;
working partners who behave badly to the moneyed partner; culprits who escape
from prison or abscond from their place of banishment; those who break their
bail and get others into trouble;
21 The soil of China belongs, every inch of it, to the Emperor.
Consequently, the people owe him a debt of gratitude for permitting them to
live upon it.
22 Do their duty as men and women.
23 A Chinaman may have three kinds of fathers: (1) his real
father, (2) an adopted father, such as an uncle without children to whom he has
been given as heir, and (3) the man his widowed mother may marry. The first two
are to all intents and purposes equal; the third is entitled only to one year’s
mourning instead of the usual three. [p.
473]
and those infatuated ones who have long omitted to
pray and repent—all these, even though they have a set-off of good deeds, must
pass through the misery of every ward. Those who interfere with another man’s Fêng-Shui;
those who obstruct funeral obsequies or the completion of graves; those who in
digging come on a coffin and do not immediately cover it up, but injure the
bones; those who steal or avoid paying up their quota of grain;24 those who
lose all record of the site of their family burying-place; those who incite
others to commit crimes; those who promote litigation; those who write
anonymous placards; those who repudiate a betrothal; those who forge deeds and
other documents; those who receive payment of a debt without signing a receipt
or giving up the IOU; those who counterfeit signatures and seals; those who
alter bills; those who injure posterity in any way—all these, and similar
offenders, shall be punished according to the gravity of each offence. Devils
with big knives will seize the erring ones and thrust them into the great
Gehenna; besides which they shall expiate their sins in the proper number of
wards, and shall then he forwarded to the Fourth Court, where they shall be
tortured and dismissed to the general Gehenna.
O ye sons of men, on the 8th day of the 2nd moon, register
an oath that ye will do no evil. Thus you may escape the bitterness of these
hells.
THE FOURTH COURT
The Lord of the Five Senses reigns at the bottom of the
great Ocean, away to the east below the Wu-chiao rock. His Court is many
leagues wide, and is subdivided into sixteen wards, as follows:—
In the first, the wicked shades are hung up and water is
continually poured over them. In the second, they are made to kneel on chains
and pieces of split bamboo. In the third, their hands are scalded with boiling
water. In the fourth, their hands swell and stream with perspiration. In the
fifth, their muscles are cut and their bones pulled out. In the sixth their
shoulders are pricked with a trident and the skin rubbed with a hard brush. In
the seventh, holes are bored into their flesh. In the eighth, they are made to
sit on spikes. In the ninth, they wear iron clothes. In the tenth they are
placed under heavy pieces of wood, stone, earth, or tiles. In the eleventh,
their eyes are put out. In the twelfth, their mouths are choked with dust. In
the thirteenth, they are perpetually dosed with nasty medicines. In the
fourteenth, it is so slippery, they are always falling down. In the fifteenth,
their mouths are painfully pricked. In the sixteenth, their bodies are buried
under broken stones, &e., the head alone being left out.
Those who cheat the customs and evade taxes; those who
repudiate their rent, use weighted scales, sell sham medicines, water their
rice,25 utter base coin, get deeply in debt, sell doctored[26] silks and
satins, scrape[27] or add size to linen cloth; those who do not
24 As taxes.
25 Visitors to Peking may often see the junkmen at T‘ung-chou
pouring water by the bucketful on to newly arrived cargoes of Imperial rice in
order to make up the right weight and conceal the amount they have filched on
the way.
26 That is, with a false gloss on them.
27 In order to raise the nap and give an appearance of
strength and goodness. [p. 474]
make way for the cripples, old and young; those who
encroach upon petty trade rights[28] of old or young; those who delay in
delivering letters entrusted to them; steal bricks from walls as they pass by,
or oil and candles from lamps;29 poor people who do not behave properly and
rich people who are not compassionate to the poor; those who promise a loan and
go back on their word; those who see people suffering from illness yet cannot
bring themselves to part with certain useful drugs they may have in their
possession; those who know good prescriptions but keep them secret; those who
throw vessels which have contained medicine or broken cups and bottles into the
street; those who allow their mules and ponies to be a nuisance to other
people; those who destroy their neighbour’s crops or his walls and fences;
those who try to bewitch their enemies,30 and those who try to frighten people
in any way,—all these shall be punished according to the gravity of their
offences, and shall be thrust by the devils into the great Gehenna until their
time arrives for passing into the Fifth Court.
O ye children of this world, if on the 18th day of the 2nd
moon you register an oath to sin no more, then you may escape the various wards
of this Hall and if to this book you add examples of rewards and punishments
following upon virtues and crimes, and hand them down to posterity for the good
of the human race, so that all who read may repent them of their wickedness—then
they will be without sin, and you not without merit!
THE FIFTH COURT
His Infernal Majesty Yen Lo[31] said,—“Our proper place is
in the First Court; but, pitying those who die by foul means, and should be
sent back to earth to have their wrongs redressed, we have moved our
judgment-seat to the great hell at the bottom of the Ocean, away to the
north-east below the Wu-chiao rock, and have subdivided this hell into sixteen
wards for the torment of souls. All those shades who come before us have
already suffered long tortures in the previous four Courts, whence, if they are
hardened sinners, they are passed on after seven days to this Court, where, if
again found to be utterly hardened, corruption will overtake them by the fifth
or seventh day. All shades cry out either that they have left some vow
unfulfilled, or that they wish to build a temple or a bridge, make a road,
clean out a river or well, publish some book teaching people to be virtuous,
that they have not released their due number of lives, that they have filial
duties or funeral obsequies to perform, some act of kindness to repay, &c.,
28 Costermongers and others acquire certain rights to
doorsteps or snug corners in Chinese cities which are not usually infringed by
competitors in the same line of business. Chair-coolies, carrying-coolies,
ferrymen, &c., also claim whole districts as their particular field of
operations, and are very jealous of any interference. I know of a case in which
the right of “scavengering” a town had been in the same family for generations,
and no one dreamt of trying to take it out of their hands.
29 Chiefly alluding to small temples where some pious
spirit may have lighted a lamp or candle to the glory of his favourite P‘u-sa.
30 This is done either by making a figure of the person to
be injured and burning it in a slow fire, like the old practice of the wax
figure in English history; or by obtaining his nativity characters, writing
them out on a piece of paper and burning them in a candle, muttering all the
time whatsoever mischief it is hoped will befall him.
31 Popularly known as the Chinese Pluto. The Indian Yama.
[p. 475]
&c. For these reasons they pray to be allowed to
return once more to the light of day, and are always ready to make oath that
henceforth they will lead most exemplary lives. We, hearing this, reply,—In
days gone by ye openly worked evil, but now that your boat has reached the midstream,
ye bethink yourselves, of caulking the leak. For although P‘u-sa in his great
mercy decreed that there should be a modification of torture, and that good
works might be set off against evil, the same being submitted to God and
ratified by Divine Decree, to be further published in the realms below and in
the Infernal City—yet we judges of the Ten Courts have not yet received one
single virtuous man amongst us, who, coming in the flesh, might carry this Divine Panorama back with him to the
light of day. Truly those who suffer in hell and on earth cannot complain, and
virtuous men are rare! But now ye have come to my Court, having beheld your own
wickedness in the mirror of sin. No more—bull-headed, horse-faced devils, away
with them to the Terrace as that they may once more gaze upon their lost homes!”
This Terrace is curved in front like a bow; it looks east,
west, and south. It is eighty-one li
from one extreme to the other. The back part is like the string of the bow; it
is enclosed by a wall of sharp swords. It is 490 feet high; its sides are
knife-blades; and the whole is in sixty-three storeys. No good shade comes to
this Terrace; neither do those whose balance of good and evil is exact. Wicked
souls alone behold their homes close by and can see and hear what is going on.
They hear old and young talking together; they see their last wishes
disregarded and their instructions disobeyed. Everything seems to have
undergone a change. The property they scraped together with so much trouble is
dissipated and gone. The husband thinks of taking another wife; the widow
meditates second nuptials.33 Strangers are in possession of the old estate;
there is nothing to divide amongst the children. Debts long since paid are
brought again for settlement, and the survivors are called upon to acknowledge
claims upon the departed. Debts owed are lost for want of evidence, with
endless recriminations, abuse, and general confusion, all of which falls upon
the three families[34] of the deceased. They in their anger speak ill of him
that is gone. He sees his children become corrupt, and his friends fall away.
Some, perhaps, for the sake of bygone times, may stroke the coffin and let fall
a tear, departing quickly with a cold smile. Worse than that, the wife sees her
husband tortured in the yamên; the husband sees his wife victim to some
horrible disease, lands gone, houses destroyed by flood or fire, and everything
in an unutterable confusion—the reward of former sins.35 All souls, after the
misery of the Terrace, will be thrust into the great Gehenna, and, when the
amount of wickedness of each has been ascertained, they will be passed through
the sixteen wards for the punishment of evil
32 The celebrated “See-one’s-home Terrace.”
33 Regarded by the Chinese with intense disgust.
34 Father’s, mother’s, and wife’s families.
35 I know of few more pathetic passages throughout all the
exquisite imagery of the “Divine Comedy” than this in which the guilty soul is
supposed to look back to the home he has but lately left and gaze in bitter
anguish on his desolate hearth and broken household gods. For once the gross
tortures of Chinese Purgatory give place to as refined and as dreadful a
punishment as human ingenuity could well devise. [p. 476]
hearts. In the Gehenna they will be buried under
wooden pillars, bound with copper snakes, crushed by iron dogs, tied tightly
hand and foot, be ripped open and have their hearts torn out, minced up and
given to snakes, their entrails being thrown to dogs. Then, when their time is
up, the pain will cease and their bodies become whole once more, preparatory to
being passed through the sixteen wards.
In the first are non-worshippers and sceptics. In the
second, those who have destroyed or hurt living creatures. In the third, those
who do not fulfil their vows. In the fourth, believers in false doctrines,
magicians, and sorcerers. In the fifth, those who tyrannise over the weak but
cringe to the strong; also those who openly wish for another’s death. In the
sixth, those who try to put their misfortunes on to other people’s shoulders.
In the seventh, those who lead immoral lives. In the eighth, those who injure
others to benefit themselves. In the ninth, those who are parsimonious and will
not help people in trouble. In the tenth, those who steal and involve the
innocent. In the eleventh, those who forget kindness or seek revenge. In the
twelfth, those who by pernicious drugs stir up others to quarrel, keeping
themselves out of harm’s way. In the thirteenth, those who deceive or spread
false reports. In the fourteenth, those who love brawling and implicate others.
In the fifteenth, those who envy the virtuous and wise. In the sixteenth, those
who are lost in vice, evil speakers, slanderers, and suchlike.
All who disbelieve the doctrine of Cause and Effect, who
obstruct good works, make a pretence of piety, talk of other people’s sins,
burn or injure religious books, omit to fast when praying for the sick,
interfere with the adoration of Buddha, slander the priesthood, or, if
scholars, abstain from instructing women and children; those who dig up graves
and obliterate all traces thereof, set light to woods and forests, allow their
servants to be careless in handling fire and thus endanger their neighbours’
property; those who wantonly discharge arrows and bolts, who try their strength
against the sick or weak, throw potsherds over a wall, poison fish, let off
guns, catch birds either with net, sticky pole,36 or trap; those who throw down
salt to kill plants, who do not bury dead cats and venomous snakes deep in the
ground, who dig out corpses, who break the soil or alter their walls and stoves
at wrong seasons,37 who encroach on the public road or take possession of other
people’s land, who fill up wells and drains &c., &c.,—all these, when
they return from the Terrace, shall first be tortured in the great Gehenna, and
then such as are to have their hearts minced shall be passed into the sixteen
wards, thence to be sent on to the Sixth Court for the punishment of other
crimes. Those who in life have not been guilty of the above sins, or, having
sinned, did on the 8th day of the 1st moon, fasting, register a vow to sin no
more, shall not only escape the punishments of this Court, but shall also gain
some further remission of torture in the Sixth Court. Those, however, who are
guilty of taking life, of gross immorality, of stealing and implicating
36 A long pole tipped with a kind of birdlime is cautiously
inserted between the branches of a tree, and then suddenly dabbed on to some
unsuspecting sparrow.
37 If this is done in winter or spring the Spirits of the
Hearth and Threshold are liable to catch cold. [p. 477]
the innocent, of ingratitude and revenge, of
infatuated vice which no warnings can turn from its course,—these shall not
escape one jot of their punishments.
THE SIXTH COURT
This Court is situated at the bottom of the great Ocean,
due north of the Wu-chiao rock. It is a vast, noisy Gehenna, many leagues in
extent, and around it are sixteen wards.
In the first, the souls are made to kneel for long periods
on iron shot. In the second, they are placed up to their necks in filth. In the
third, they are pounded till the blood runs out. In the fourth their mouths are
opened with iron pincers and filled full of needles. In the fifth, they are
bitten by rats. In the sixth, they are enclosed in a net of thorns and nipped
by locusts. In the seventh, they are crushed to a jelly. In the eighth, their
skin is lacerated and they are beaten on the raw. In the ninth, their mouths
are filled with fire. In the tenth, they are licked by flames. In the eleventh,
they are subjected to noisome smells. In the twelfth, they are butted by oxen
and trampled on by horses. In the thirteenth, their hearts are scratched. In
the fourteenth, their heads are rubbed till their skulls come off. In the
fifteenth, they are chopped in two at the waist. In the sixteenth, their skin
is taken off and rolled up into spills.
Those discontented ones who rail against Heaven and revile
Earth, who are always finding fault either with the wind, thunder, heat, cold,
fine weather or rain; those who let their tears fall towards the north,38 who
steal the gold from the inside[39] or scrape the gilding from the outside of
images; those who take holy names in vain, who show no respect for written
paper, who throw down dirt and rubbish near pagodas or temples, who use dirty
cookhouses and stoves for preparing the sacrificial meats, who do not abstain from
eating beef and dog flesh;40 those who have in their possession blasphemous or
obscene books and do not destroy them, who obliterate or tear books which teach
man to be good, who carve on common articles of household use the symbol of the
origin of a things,41 the Sun and Moon and Seven Stars, the Royal Mother and
the God of Longevity on the same article,42 or representations of any of the
Immortals; those who embroider the Svastika[43] on fancy work, or mark
characters on silk, satin, or cloth, on banners, beds, chairs, tables, or any
kind of utensil; those who secretly wear clothes adorned with the dragon and
the phoenix[44] only to be trampled under foot, who buy up grain and hold until
the price is exorbitantly high—all these shall be thrust into the great and
noisy
38 I presume because God sits with his face to the south.
39 Pious and wealthy people often give orders for an image
of a certain P‘u-sa to be made with an ounce or so of gold inside.
40 Primarily,
because no living thing should be killed for food. The ox and the dog are
specified because of their kindly services to man in tilling the earth and
guarding his home.
41 The symbol of the Yin and the Yang.
42 One being male and the other female. This calls to mind
the extreme modesty of a celebrated French Lady, who would not put books by
male and female authors on the same shelf.
43 The symbol on Buddha’s heart; more commonly known to the
Western world as Thor’s Hammer.
44 Emblems of imperial dignity. [p. 478]
Gehenna, there to be examined as to their misdeeds
and passed accordingly into one of the sixteen wards, whence, at the expiration
of their time, they will be sent for further questioning on to the Seventh
Court.
All dwellers upon earth who on the 8th day of the 3rd
moon, fasting, register a vow from that date to sin no more, and, on the 14th
and 15th of the 5th moon, the 3rd of the 8th moon, and the l0th of the 10th
moon, to practise abstinence, vowing, moreover, to exert themselves to convert
others,—these shall escape the bitterness of all the above-mentioned wards.
THE SEVENTH COURT
His Infernal Majesty T‘ai Shan reigns at the bottom of the
great Ocean, away to the north-west, below the Wu-chiao rock. His is a vast,
noisy Court, measuring many leagues in circumference and subdivided into
sixteen wards, as follows:—
In the first, the wicked souls are made to swallow their
own blood. In the second, their legs are pierced and thrust into a fiery pit.
In the third, their chests are cut open. In the fourth, their hair is torn out
with iron combs. In the fifth, they are gnawed by dogs. In the sixth, great
stones are placed on their heads. In the seventh, their skulls are pierced. In
the eighth, they wear fiery clothes. In the ninth, their skin is torn and
pulled by pigs. In the tenth, they are pecked by huge birds. In the eleventh,
they are hung up and beaten on the feet. In the twelfth, their tongues are
pulled out and their jaws bored. In the thirteenth, they are disembowelled. In
the fourteenth, they are trampled on by mules and bitten by badgers. In the
fifteenth, their fingers are ironed with hot irons. In the sixteenth, they are
boiled in oil.
All mortals who practise eating red lead[45] and certain
other nauseous articles,[46] who spend more than they should upon wine, who
kidnap human beings for sale, who steal clothes and ornaments from coffins, who
break up dead men’s bones for medicine, who separate people from their
relatives, who sell the girl brought up in the house to be their son’s wife,
who allow their wives[47] to drown female children, who stifle their
illegitimate offspring, who unite to cheat another in gambling, who act as
tutors without being properly strict, and thus wrong their pupils, who beat and
injure their slaves without estimating the punishment by the fault, who regard
districts entrusted to their charge in the light of so much spoil, who disobey
their elders, who talk at random and go back on their word, who stir up others
to quarrel and fight—all these shall, upon verification of their sins, be taken
from the great Gehenna and passed through the proper wards, to be forwarded
when their time has expired to the Eighth Court, again to be tortured according
to their deserts.
All things may not be used as drugs. It is bad enough to
slay birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes, in order to prepare medicine for the
sick; but to use red lead and many of the filthy messes in vogue is beyond all
bounds of decency, and those who foul their mouths
45 Supposed to confer immortality.
46 Unfit for translation.
47 This is ingeniously expressed, as if mothers were the
prime movers in such unnatural arts. [p. 479]
with these nasty mixtures, no matter how virtuous
they may otherwise be, will not only derive no benefit from saying their
prayers, but will be punished for so doing without mercy.
Ye who hear these words, make haste to repent! From today
forbear to take life, buy many birds and animals in order to set them free,48
and every morning when you wash your teeth mutter a prayer to Buddha. Thus,
when your last hour comes, a good angel will stand by your side and purify you
of your former sins.
Some steal the bones of people who have been burnt to
death or the bodies of illegitimate children, for the purpose of compounding
medicines; others steal skulls and bones (from graves) with the same object.
Worst of all are those who carry off bones by the basketful, using the hard
ones for making various articles and grinding down the soft ones for the
manufacture of pottery.[49] These, no matter what may have been their good
works on earth, will not obtain thereby any remission of punishment; but when
they are brought down below, the Ruler of the Infernal Regions will first pass
them from the great Gehenna into the proper wards, and will send instructions
to the Tenth Court that when they are born again on earth it shall be either
without ears, or eyes, hand, foot, mouth, lips, or nose, or maimed in some way
or other.[A] Yet such as have thus sinned may still avoid this punishment, if
only they are willing to pray and repent, vowing never to sin again. Or if they
buy coffins for the poor and persuade others to do likewise, by these means
giving a decent burial to many corpses—then, when the death-summons comes, the
Spirits of the Home and Hearth will make a black mark upon the warrant, and
punishment will be remitted.
Sometimes, when there is a famine, people have nothing to
eat and die of hunger, and wicked men, almost before the breath is out of their
bodies, cut them up and sell their flesh to others for food—a horrid crime
indeed. Those who are guilty of such practices will, on arrival in the lower
regions, be tortured in the various Courts for the space of forty-nine[50]
days, and then the judge of the Tenth Court will be instructed to notify the
judge of the First Court to put them down in his register for a new birth,—if
among men, as hungry, famished outcasts, and if among animals as loathing the
food that falls to their lot, and by-and-by perishing of hunger. Such is their
reward. Besides the above, those who have eaten what is unfit for food and
willingly continue to do so, will be punished either among men or animals
according to their deserts. Their throats will swell, and though devoured by
hunger they will be unable to swallow, and thus die. Those who do not err a
second time may be forgiven as they deserve; but those who in times of distress
subscribe money for the sufferers, prepare gruel, give away rice to the needy,
or distribute ginger tea[51] and soup in the open street, and thus sustain life
a little longer and do real good to their
48 On fête days at temples it is not uncommon to see cages
full of birds hawked about among the holiday-makers, that those who feel
twinges of conscience may purchase a sparrow or two and relieve themselves from
anxiety by the simple means of setting them at liberty.
49 Bones are used in glazing porcelain, to give a higher
finish.
50 The seven periods of seven days each which occur
immediately after a death and at which the departed shade is appeased with food
and offerings of various kinds.
51 To warm them.
[A] Not a particularly kind view of the disabled. [p. 480]
fellow creatures—all these shall not only obtain
remission of their sins, but carry on a balance of good to their account which
shall ensure them a happy old age in the life to come.52 Of the above three
clauses, two were proposed by the officials attached to this Seventh Court, the
third by the Chief Justice of the great Gehenna, and the whole submitted
together for the approval of God, the following Rescript being obtained:—“Let
it be as proposed; let the three clauses be copied into the Divine Panorama, and let the officials
concerned be promoted or rewarded. Also, in case of crimes other than those
already provided for, let such be punished according to the statutes of the
Rulers of the Four Continents on earth, and let any evasion of punishment and
implication of innocent people be at once reported by the proper officials for
our consideration. This from the Throne! Obey!”
O ye sons and daughters of men, if on the 27th of the 3rd
moon, fasting and turned towards the north, ye register a vow to pray and
repent, and to publish the whole of the Divine
Panorama for the enlightenment of mankind, then ye may escape the
bitterness of this Seventh Court.
THE EIGHTH COURT
His Infernal Majesty Tu Shih reigns at the bottom of the
great Ocean, due east below the Wu-chiao rock, in a vast noisy Court many
leagues in extent, subdivided into sixteen wards as follows:—
In the first, the wicked souls are rolled down mountains
in carts. In the second, they are shut up in huge saucepans. In the third, they
are minced. In the fourth, their noses, eyes, mouths, &c., are stopped up.
In the fifth, their uvulas are cut off. In the sixth they are exposed to all
kinds of filth. In the seventh, their extremities are cut off. In the eighth,
their viscera[53] are fried. In the ninth, their marrow is cauterised. In the
tenth, their bowels are scratched. In the eleventh, they are inwardly burned
with fire. In the twelfth, they are disembowelled. In the thirteenth, their
chests are torn open. In the fourteenth, their skulls are split and their teeth
dragged out. In the fifteenth, they are hacked and gashed. In the sixteenth,
they are pricked with steel prongs.
Those who are unfilial, who do not nourish their relatives
while alive or bury them when dead, who subject their parents to fright,
sorrow, or anxiety —if they do not quickly repent them of their former sins,
the Spirit of the Hearth will report their misdoings and gradually deprive them
of what prosperity they may be enjoying. Those who indulge in magic and sorcery
will, after death, when they have been tortured in the other Courts, be brought
here to this Court, and dragged backwards by bull-headed, horse-faced devils to
be thrust into the great Gehenna. Then when they have been tortured in the
various wards they will be passed on to the Tenth Court, whence at the expiration
of a kalpa[54] they will be sent back
to earth with changed heads and faces for ever to find their place amongst the
brute creation. But those who believe in the
52 When they are born again on earth.
53 Heart, lungs, spleen, liver, and kidneys.
54 Many millions of years. [p. 481]
Divine
Panorama, and on the 1st of the 4th moon make a vow of repentance,
repeating the same every night and morning to the Spirit of the Hearth, shall,
by virtue of one of three characters, obedient,
acquiescent, or repentant, to be traced on their foreheads at death by the Spirit
of the Hearth, escape half the punishments from the First to the Seventh Court,
inclusive, and escape this Eighth Court altogether, being passed on to the
Ninth Court, where cases of arson and poisoning are investigated, and finally
born again from the Tenth Court among mankind as before.
To this God added, “Whosoever may circulate the Divine Panorama for the information of
the world at large shall escape all punishment from the First to the Eighth
Court, inclusive. Passing through the Ninth and Tenth Courts, they shall be
born again amongst men in some happy state.”
THE NINTH COURT
His Infernal Majesty P‘ing Têng reigns at the bottom of
the great Ocean, away to the south-west, below the Wu-chiao rock. His is the
vast, circular hell of A-pi, many leagues in breadth, jealously enclosed by an
iron net, and subdivided into sixteen wards, as follows:—
In the first, the wicked souls have their bones beaten and
their bodies scorched. In the second, their muscles are drawn out and their
bones rapped. In the third, ducks eat their heart and liver. In the fourth,
dogs eat their intestines and lungs. In the fifth, they are splashed with hot
oil. In the sixth, their heads are crushed in a frame, and their tongues and
teeth are drawn out. In the seventh, their brains are taken out and their
skulls filled with hedgehogs. In the eighth, their heads are steamed and their
brains scraped. In the ninth, they are dragged about by sheep till they drop to
pieces. In the tenth, they are squeezed in a wooden press and pricked on the
head. In the eleventh, their hearts are ground in a mill. In the twelfth,
boiling water drips on to their bodies. In the thirteenth, they are stung by
wasps. In the fourteenth, they are tortured by ants and maggots; they are then
stewed, and finally wrung out (like clothes). In the fifteenth, they are stung
by scorpions. In the sixteenth, they are tortured by venomous snakes, crimson
and scarlet.
All who on earth have committed one of the ten great
crimes, and have deserved either the lingering death, decapitation,
strangulation, or other punishment, shall, after passing through the tortures
of the previous Courts, be brought to this Court, together with those guilty of
arson, of making ku poison,55 bad
books, stupefying drugs, and many other disgraceful acts. Then, if it be found
that, hearkening to the words of the Divine
Panorama, they subsequently destroyed the blocks of these books, burnt
their prescriptions, and ceased practising the magical art, they shall escape
the punishments of
55 The following recipe for this deadly poison is given in
the well-known Chinese work Instructions
to Coroners:—“Take a quantity of insects of all kinds and throw them into a
vessel of any kind; cover them up, and let a year pass away before you look at
them again. The insects will have killed and eaten each other, until there is
only one survivor, and this one is Ku.” [p. 482]
this Court and be passed on to the Tenth Court,
thence to be born again amongst the sons of men. But if, having heard the
warnings of the Divine Panorama, they
still continue to sin, from the Second to the Eighth Court their tortures shall
be increased. They shall be bound on to a hollow copper pillar, clasping it
round with their hands and feet. Then the pillar shall be filled with fierce
fire, so as to burn into their heart and liver; and afterwards their feet shall
be plunged into the great Gehenna of A-pi, knives shall be thrust into their
lungs, they shall bite their own hearts, and gradually sink to the uttermost
depths of hell, there to endure excruciating torments until the victims of
their wickedness have either recovered the property out of which they were
cheated, or the life that was taken away from them, and until every trace of
book, prescription, picture, &c., formerly used by these wicked souls has
disappeared from the face of the earth. Then, and only then, may they pass into
the Tenth Court to be born again in one of the Six States of existence.
O ye who have committed such crimes as these, on the 8th
of the 4th moon, or the 1st or 15th (of any moon), fasting swear that you will
buy up all bad books and magical pamphlets and utterly destroy them with fire;
or that you will circulate copies of the Divine Panorama to be a warning to
others! Then, when your last moment is at hand, the Spirit of the Hearth will
write on your forehead the two words He
obeyed, and from the Second up to the Ninth Court your good deeds will be
rewarded by a diminution of such punishments as you have incurred. People in
the higher ranks of life who secure incendiaries or murderers, who destroy the
blocks of bad books, or publish notices warning others, and offer rewards for
the production of such books, will be rewarded by the success of their sons and
grandsons at the public examinations. Poor people who, by a great effort,
manage to have the Divine Panorama
circulated for the benefit of mankind, will be forwarded at once to the Tenth
Court, and thence be born again in some happy state on earth.
THE TENTH COURT
His Infernal Majesty Chuan Lun[56] reigns in the Dark
Land, due east, away below the Wu-chiao rock, just opposite the Wu-cho of this
world. There he has six bridges, of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and
planks, over which all souls must pass. He examines the shades that are sent
from the other courts, and, according to their deserts, sends them back to
earth as men, women, old, young, high, low, rich, or poor, forwarding monthly a
list of their names to the judge of the First Court for transmission to Fêng-tu.57
The regulations provide that all beasts, birds, fishes,
and insects, whether biped, quadruped, or otherwise, shall after death become chien,58 to be born again for long and
short lives alternately. But such as may possibly have taken life, and such as
must necessarily have taken life, will pass through a revolution of the Wheel,
and
56 He who “turns the wheel;” a chakravartti raja.
57 The capital city of the Infernal Regions.
58 The ghosts of dead people are believed to be liable to
death. The ghost of a ghost is called chien. [p. 483]
then, when their sins have been examined, they will
be sent up on earth to receive the proper retribution. At the end of every year
a report will be forwarded to Fêng-tu.
Those scholars who study the Book of Changes, or priests
who chant their liturgies, cannot be tortured in the Ten Courts for the sins
they have committed. When they come to this Court their names and features are
taken down in a book kept for the purpose, and they are forwarded to Mother Mêng,
who drives them on to the Terrace of Oblivion and doses them with the draught
of forgetfulness. Then they are born again in the world for a day, a week, or
it may be a year, when they die once more; and now, having forgotten the holy
words of the Three Religions,59 they are carried off by devils to the various
Courts, and are properly punished for their former crimes.
All souls whose balance of good and evil is exact, whose
period of punishment is completed, or whose crimes are many and good deeds few,
as soon as their future state has been decided,—man, woman, beautiful, ugly,
comfort, toil, wealth, or poverty, as the case may be,—must pass through the
Terrace of Oblivion.
Amongst those shades, on their way to be born again in the
world of human beings, there are often to be found women who cry out that they
have some old and bitter wrong to avenge,60 and that rather than be born again
amongst men they would prefer to enter the ranks of hungry devils.61 On
examining them more closely it generally comes out that they are the virtuous
victims of some wicked student, who may perhaps have an eye to their money, and
accordingly dresses himself out to entrap them, or promises marriage when
sometimes he has a wife already, or offers to take care of an aged mother or a
late husband’s children. Thus the foolish women are beguiled, and put their
property in the wicked man’s hands. By-and-by he turns round upon and reviles
them, and, losing face in the eyes of their relatives and friends, with no one
to redress their wrong, they are driven to commit suicide. Then, hearing[62]
that their seducer is likely to succeed at the examination, they beg and
implore to be allowed to go back and compass his death. Now, although what they
urge is true enough, yet that man’s destiny may not be worked out, or the
transmitted effects of his ancestors’ virtue may not have passed away;63
therefore, as a compromise, these injured shades are allowed to send a spirit
to the Examination Hall to hinder and confuse him in the preparation of his
paper, or to change the names on the published list of successful candidates;
and finally, when his hour arrives, to proceed with the spirit who carries the
death-summons, seize him, and bring him to the First Court for judgment.
Ye who on the 17th of the 4th moon swear to carry out the
precepts of the Divine Panorama, and
frequently make these words the subject of your conversation, may in the life
to come be born again
59 Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism.
60 Women are considered in China to be far more revengeful
than men. Cf. “Sweet is revenge, especially to women.”
61 See Author’s Own
Record (in Introduction), note
28.
62 While in Purgatory.
63 It was mentioned above that the rewards for virtue
would he continued to a man’s sons and grandsons. [p. 484]
amongst men and escape official punishments, fire,
flood, and all accidents to the body.
The place where the Wheel of Fate goes round is many
leagues in extent, enclosed on all sides by an iron palisade. Within are
eighty-one subdivisions, each of which has its proper officers and magisterial
appointments. Beyond the palisade there is a labyrinth of 108,000 paths leading
by direct and circuitous routes back to earth. Inside it is as dark as pitch,
and through it pass the spirits of priest and layman alike. But to one who
looks from the outside everything is seen as clear as crystal, and the
attendants who guard the place all have the faces and features they had at
their birth. These attendants are chosen from virtuous people who in life were
noted for filial piety, friendship, or respect for life, and are sent here to
look after the working of the Wheel and such duties. If for a space of five
years they make no mistakes they are promoted to a higher office; but if found
to be lazy or careless they are reported to the Throne for punishment.
Those who in life have been unfilial or have destroyed
much life, when they have been tortured in the various Courts are brought here
and beaten to death with peach twigs. They then become chien, and with changed heads and altered faces are turned out into
the labyrinth to proceed by the path which ends in the brute creation.
Birds, beasts, fishes, and insects may after many myriads
of kalpas again resume their original
shapes; and if there are any that during three existences do not destroy life,
they may be born amongst human beings as a reward, a record being made and
their names forwarded to the First Court for approval. But all shades of men
and women must proceed to the Terrace of Oblivion.
Mother Mêng was born in the Earlier Han Dynasty. In her
childhood she studied books of the Confucian school; when she grew up she
chanted the liturgies of Buddha. Of the past and the future she had no care,
but occupied herself in exhorting mankind to desist from taking life and become
vegetarians. At eighty-one years of age her hair was white and her complexion
like a child’s She lived and died a virgin, calling herself simply Mêng; but
men called her Mother Mêng. She retired to the hills and lived as a religieuse until the Later Han.
Then because certain evil-doers, relying on their
knowledge of the past, used to beguile women by pretending to have been their
husbands in a former life, God commissioned Mother Mêng to build the Terrace of
Oblivion, and appointed her as guardian, with devils to wait upon her and
execute her commands. It was arranged that all shades who had been sentenced in
the Ten Courts to return in various conditions to earth should first be dosed
by her with a decoction of herbs, sweet, bitter, acrid, sour, or salt. Thus
they forget everything that has previously happened to them, and carry away
with them to earth some slight weaknesses, such as the mouth watering at the
thought (of something nice), laughter inducing perspiration, fear inducing tears,
anger inducing sobs, or spitting from nervousness. Good spirits who go back
into the world will have their senses of sight, hearing, smell, and taste very
much increased in power, and their physical strength and constitution generally
will be much bettered. But evil spirits [p. 485] will experience the exact
contrary of this, as a reward for previous sins and as a warning to others to
pray and repent.
The Terrace is situated in front of the Ten Courts,
outside the six bridges. It is square, measuring ten (Chinese) feet every way,
and surrounded by 108 small rooms. To the east there is a raised path, one foot
four inches in breadth, and in the rooms abovementioned are prepared cups of
forgetfulness ready for the arrival of the shades. Whether they swallow much or
little it matters not; but sometimes there are perverse devils who altogether
refuse to drink. Then beneath their feet ssharp blades start up, and a copper
tube is forced down their throats, by which means they are compelled to swallow
some. When they have drunk, they are raised by the attendants and escorted back
by the same path. They are next pushed on to the Bitter Bamboo floating bridge,
with torrents of rushing red water on either side. Half-way across they
perceive written in large characters on a red cliff on the opposite side the
following lines:—
To be a man is easy, but to act up to one’s responsibilities as
such is hard.
Yet to be a man once again is perhaps harder still.
For those who would be born again in some happy state there is no
great difficulty;
It is only necessary to keep mouth and heart in harmony,
When the shades have read these words they try to jump on
shore, but are beaten back into the water by two huge devils. One has on a
black official hat and embroidered clothes; in his hand he holds a paper
pencil, and over his shoulder he carries a sharp sword. Instruments of torture
hang at his waist, fiercely he glares out of his large round eyes and laughs a
horrid laugh. His name is Short Life.
The other has a dirty face smeared with blood; he has on a
white coat, an abacus in his hand and a rice sack over his shoulder. Round his
neck hangs a string of paper money; his brow contracts hideously, and he utters
long sighs. His name is They have their
reward, and his duty is to push the shades into the red water. The wicked
and foolish rejoice at the prospect of being born once more as human beings;
but the better shades weep and mourn that in life they did not lay up a store
of virtuous acts, and thus pass away from the state of mortals for ever.64 Yet
they all rush on to birth like an infatuated or drunken crowd; and again, in
their early childhood, hanker after the forbidden flavours.65 Then, regardless
of consequences, they begin to destroy life, and thus forfeit all claims to the
mercy and compassion of God. They take no thought as to the end that must
overtake them; and finally, they bring themselves once more to the same horrid
plight.
64 That is, go to heaven.
65 Of meat, wine, &c. [p. 486]
APPENDIX II.
ANCESTRAL WORSHIP
“The rudimentary form of all religion is the propitiation
of dead ancestors, who are supposed to be still existing, and to be capable of
working good or evil to their descendants.”—SPENCER’S ESSAYS. Vol. iii., p. 102.
—The Origin of Animal Worship.
BILOCATION
“As a general rule, people are apt to consider it
impossible for a man to be in two places at once, and indeed a saying to that
effect has become a popular saw. But the rule is so far from being universally
accepted, that the word ‘bilocation’ has been invented to express the
miraculous faculty possessed by certain saints of the Roman Church, of being in
two places at once; like St. Alfonso di Liguori, who had the useful power of
preaching his sermon in church, while he was confessing penitents at home.” —TYLOR’s
Primitive Culture. Vol. i., p. 447.
BURIAL RITES
“Hence the various burial rites—the placing of weapons and
valuables along with the body, the daily bringing of food to it, &c. I hope
hereafter to show that with such knowledge of facts as he has, this
interpretation is the most reasonable the savage can arrive at.” —SPENCER’S
ESSAYS. Vol. iii., p. 104, —The Origin of
Animal Worship.
DREAMS
“The distinction so easily made by us between our life in
dreams and our real life is one which the savage recognises in but a vague way;
and he cannot express even that distinction which he perceives. When he awakes,
and to those who have seen him lying quietly asleep, describes where he has
been, and what he has done, his rude language fails to state the difference
between seeing and dreaming that he saw, doing and dreaming that he did. From
this inadequacy of his language it not only results that he cannot truly
represent this difference to others, but also that he cannot truly represent it
to himself.” —SPENCER’S ESSAYS. Vol. iii., pp. 103, 104. [p. 487]
SHADE OR SHADOW
“The ghost or phantasm seen by the dreamer or the
visionary is an unsubstantial form, like a shadow, and thus the familiar term
of the shade comes in to express the
soul. Thus the Tasmanian word for the shadow is also that for the spirit; the
Algonquin Indians describe a man’s soul as otahchuk,
‘his shadow;’ the Quiché language uses natub
for ‘shadow, soul’; the Arawac ueja
means ‘shadow, soul, image;’ the Abipones made the one word loákal serve for ‘shadow, soul, echo,
image.’”— TYLOR’s Primitive Culture.
Vol. i., p. 430.
SHADOW
“Thus the dead in Purgatory knew that Dante was alive when
they saw that, unlike theirs, his figure cast a shadow on the ground.”—TYLOR’s Primitive Culture. Vol. i., p. 431.
THE SOUL
“The savage, conceiving a corpse to be deserted by the
active personality who dwelt in it, conceives this active personality to be
still existing, and his feelings and ideas concerning it form the basis of his
superstitions.”—SPENCER’S ESSAYS. Vol. iii., p. 103. —The Origin o f Animal Worship.
TRANSMIGRATION
“Whether the Buddhists receive the full Hindu doctrine of
the migration of the individual soul from birth to birth, or whether they
refine away into metaphysical subtleties the notion of continued personality,
they do consistently and systematically hold that a man’s life in former
existences is the cause of his now being what he is, while at this moment he is
accumulating merit or demerit whose result will determine his fate in future
lives.”—TYLOR’S Primitive Culture.
Vol. ii., p. 12.
TRANSMIGRATION
“Memory, it is true, fails generally to recall these past
births, but memory, as we know, stops short of the beginning even of this
present life.”—TYLOR’s Primitive Culture.
Vol. ii., p. 12.
TRANSMIGRATION
“As for believers, savage or civilised, in the great
doctrine of metempsychosis, these not only consider that an animal may have a
soul, but that this soul may have inhabited a human being, and thus the
creature may be in fact their own ancestor or once familiar friend.”—TYLOR’s Primitive Culture. Vol. i., p. 469. [p. 488]
TREE-SOULS
“Orthodox Buddhism decided against the tree-souls, and
consequently against the scruple to harm them, declaring trees to have no mind
nor sentient principle, though admitting that certain dewas or spirits do
reside in the body of trees, and speak from within them.”—TYLOR’s Primitive Culture.—Vol. i., p. 475.