Part 2

“The common saying, ‘He regards a camel as a horse with a swelled back,’ trivial of itself, may be used in illustration of greater matters. Men are wont to attribute an existence only to such things as they daily see with their own eyes, and they marvel at whatsoever, appearing before them at one instant, vanishes at the next. And yet it is not at the sprouting and falling of foliage, or at the metamorphosis of insects that they marvel, but only at the manifestations of the supernatural world; though of a truth, the whistling of the wind and the movement of streams, with nothing to set the one in motion or give sound to the other, might well be ranked among extraordinary phenomena. We are accustomed to these, and therefore do not note them. We marvel at devils and foxes: we do not marvel at man. But who is it that causes a man to move and to speak?--to which question comes the ready answer of each individual so questioned, ‘_I_ do.’ This ‘I do,’ however, is merely a personal consciousness of the facts under discussion. For a man can see with his eyes, but he cannot see what it is that makes him see; he can hear with his ears, but he cannot hear what it is that makes him hear; how, then, is it possible for him to understand the rationale of things he can neither see nor hear. Whatever has come within the bounds of their own ocular or auricular experience men regard as proved to be actually existing; and only such things.[34] But this term ‘experience’ may be understood in various senses. For instance, people speak of something which has certain attributes as _form_, and of something else which has certain other attributes as _substance_; ignorant as they are that form and substance are to be found existing without those particular attributes. Things which are thus constituted are inappreciable, indeed, by our ears and eyes; but we cannot argue that therefore they do not exist. Some persons can see a mosquito’s eye, while to others even a mountain is invisible; some can hear the sound of ants battling together, while others again fail to catch the roar of a thunder-peal. Powers of seeing and hearing vary; there should be no reckless imputations of blindness. According to the schoolmen, man at his death is dispersed like wind or fire, the origin and end of his vitality being alike unknown; and as those who have seen strange phenomena are few, the number of those who marvel at them is proportionately great, and the ‘horse with a swelled back’ parallel is very widely applicable. And ever quoting the fact that Confucius would have nothing to say on these topics, these schoolmen half discredit such works as the _Ch‘i-chieh-chih-kuai_ and the _Yü-ch‘u-chi-i_,[35] ignorant that the Sage’s unwillingness to speak had reference only to persons of an inferior mental calibre; for his own _Spring and Autumn_ can hardly be said to be devoid of all allusions of the kind. Now P‘u Liu-hsien devoted himself in his youth to the marvellous, and as he grew older was specially remarkable for his comprehension thereof; and being moreover a most elegant writer, he occupied his leisure in recording whatever came to his knowledge of a particularly marvellous nature. A volume of these compositions of his formerly fell into my hands, and was constantly borrowed by friends; now, I have another volume, and of what I read only about three-tenths was known to me before. What there is, should be sufficient to open the eyes of those schoolmen, though I much fear it will be like talking of ice to a butterfly. Personally, I disbelieve in the irregularity of natural phenomena, and regard as evil spirits only those who injure their neighbours. For eclipses, falling stars, the flight of herons, the nest of a mina, talking stones, and the combats of dragons, can hardly be classed as irregular; while the phenomena of nature occurring out of season, wars, rebellions, and so forth, may certainly be relegated to the category of evil. In my opinion the morality of P‘u Liu-hsien’s work is of a very high standard, its object being distinctly to glorify virtue and to censure vice, and as a book calculated to elevate mankind may be safely placed side by side with the philosophical treatises of Yang Hsiung which Huan Tan declared to be so worthy of a wide circulation.”

With regard to the meaning of the Chinese words _Liao-Chai-Chih-I_, this title has received indifferent treatment at the hands of different writers. Dr. Williams chose to render it by “Pastimes of the Study,” and Mr. Mayers by “The Record of Marvels, or Tales of the Genii;” neither of which is sufficiently near to be regarded in the light of a translation. Taken literally and in order, these words stand for “Liao--library--record--strange,” “Liao” being simply a fanciful name given by our author to his private library or studio. An apocryphal anecdote traces the origin of this selection to a remark once made by himself with reference to his failure for the second degree. “Alas!” he is reported to have said, “I shall now have no resource (_Liao_) for my old age;” and accordingly he so named his study, meaning that in his pen he would seek that resource which fate had denied to him as an official. For this untranslatable “Liao” I have ventured to substitute “Chinese,” as indicating more clearly the nature of what is to follow. No such title as “Tales of the Genii” fully expresses the scope of this work, which embraces alike weird stories of Taoist devilry and magic, marvellous accounts of impossible countries beyond the sea, simple scenes of Chinese every-day life, and notices of extraordinary natural phenomena. Indeed, the author once had it in contemplation to publish only the more imaginative of the tales in the present collection under the title of “Devil and Fox Stories;” but from this scheme he was ultimately dissuaded by his friends, the result being the heterogeneous mass which is more aptly described by the title I have given to this volume. In a similar manner, I too had originally determined to publish a full and complete translation of the whole of these sixteen volumes; but on a closer acquaintance many of the stories turned out to be quite unsuitable for the age in which we live, forcibly recalling the coarseness of our own writers of fiction in the last century. Others again were utterly pointless, or mere repetitions in a slightly altered form. Of the whole, I therefore selected one hundred and sixty-four of the best and most characteristic stories, of which eight had previously been published by Mr. Allen in the _China Review_, one by Mr. Mayers in _Notes and Queries on China and Japan_, two by myself in the columns of the _Celestial Empire_, and four by Dr. Williams in a now forgotten handbook of Chinese. The remaining one hundred and forty-nine have never before, to my knowledge, been translated into English. To those, however, who can enjoy the _Liao-Chai_ in the original text, the distinctions between the various stories of felicity in plot, originality, and so on, are far less sharply defined, so impressed as each competent reader must be by the incomparable style in which even the meanest is arrayed. For in this respect, as important now in Chinese eyes as it was with ourselves in days not long gone by, the author of the _Liao-Chai_ and the rejected candidate succeeded in founding a school of his own, in which he has since been followed by hosts of servile imitators with more or less success. Terseness is pushed to its extreme limits; each particle that can be safely dispensed with is scrupulously eliminated; and every here and there some new and original combination invests perhaps a single word with a force it could never have possessed except under the hands of a perfect master of his art. Add to the above, copious allusions and adaptations from a course of reading which would seem to have been co-extensive with the whole range of Chinese literature, a wealth of metaphor and an artistic use of figures generally to which only the _chef-d’œuvres_ of Carlyle form an adequate parallel; and the result is a work which for purity and beauty of style is now universally accepted in China as the best and most perfect model. Sometimes the story runs along plainly and smoothly enough; but the next moment we may be plunged into pages of abstruse text, the meaning of which is so involved in quotations from and allusions to the poetry or history of the past three thousand years as to be recoverable only after diligent perusal of the commentary and much searching in other works of reference. In illustration of the popularity of this book, Mr. Mayers once stated that “the porter at his gate, the boatman at his mid-day rest, the chair-coolie at his stand, no less than the man of letters among his books, may be seen poring with delight over the elegantly-narrated marvels of the _Liao-Chai_;” but he would doubtless have withdrawn this judgment in later years, with the work lying open before him. Ever since I have been in China, I have made a point of never, when feasible, passing by a reading Chinaman without asking permission to glance at the volume in his hand; and at my various stations in China I have always kept up a borrowing acquaintance with the libraries of my private or official servants; but I can safely affirm that I have not once detected the _Liao-Chai_ in the hands of an ill-educated man. Mr. Mayers made, perhaps, a happier hit when he observed that “fairy-tales told in the style of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_ would scarcely be a popular book in Great Britain;” though except in some particular points of contact, the styles of these two writers could scarcely claim even the most distant of relationships.

Such, then, is the setting of this collection of _Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio_, many of which contain, in addition to the advantages of style and plot, a very excellent moral. The intention of most of them is, in the actual words of T‘ang Mêng-lai, “to glorify virtue and to censure vice,”--always, it must be borne in mind, according to the Chinese and not to a European interpretation of these terms. As an addition to our knowledge of the folk-lore of China, and as an _aperçu_ of the manners, customs, and social life of that vast Empire, my translation of the _Liao-Chai_ may not be wholly devoid of interest. The amusement and instruction I have myself derived from the task thus voluntarily imposed has already more than repaid me for the pains I have been at to put this work before the English public in a pleasing and available form.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] “How can a statement as to customs, myths, beliefs, &c., of a savage tribe, be treated as evidence, where it depends on the testimony of some traveller or missionary, who may be a superficial observer, more or less ignorant of the native language, a careless retailer of unsifted talk, a man prejudiced or even wilfully deceitful?”--TYLOR’S _Primitive Culture_, Vol. I., p. 9.

[2] Said of the bogies of the hills, in allusion to their _clothes_. Here quoted with reference to the official classes, in ridicule of the title under which they hold posts which, from a literary point of view, they are totally unfit to occupy.

[3] A celebrated statesman (B.C. 314) who, having lost his master’s favour by the intrigues of a rival, finally drowned himself in despair. The Annual Dragon Festival is said by some to be a “search” for his body.

[4] A poem addressed by San-lü to his Prince, after his disgrace. Its non-success was the immediate cause of his death.

[5] That is, of the supernatural generally.

[6] A poet of the T‘ang Dynasty whose eyebrows met, whose nails were very long, and who could write very fast.

[7] “You know the music of earth,” said the Taoist sage, Chuang-tzŭ; “but you have not heard the music of heaven.”

[8] That is, to the operation of some influence surviving from a previous existence.

[9] This is another hit at the ruling classes. Chi K‘ang, a celebrated musician and alchemist (A.D. 223-262), was sitting one night alone, playing upon his lute, when suddenly a man with a tiny face walked in, and began to stare hard at him, the stranger’s face enlarging all the time. “I’m not going to match myself against a devil!” cried the musician, after a few moments, and instantly blew out the light.

[10] When Liu Chüan, Governor of Wu-ling, determined to relieve his poverty by trade, he saw a devil standing by his side, laughing and rubbing his hands for glee. “Poverty and wealth are matters of destiny,” said Liu Chüan; “But to be laughed at by a devil----,” and accordingly he desisted from his intention.

[11] A writer who flourished in the early part of the fourth century, and composed a work in thirty books entitled _Supernatural Researches_.

[12] The famous poet, statesman, and essayist, who flourished A.D. 1036-1101.

[13] “And his friends had the habit of jotting down for his unfailing delight anything quaint or comic that they came across.”--_The World_ on Charles Dickens: 24th July 1878.

[14] It is related in the _Historical Record_ that when T‘ai Po and Yü Chung visited the southern savages they saw men with tattooed bodies and short hair.

[15] A fabulous community, placed by geographers to the west of the Dragon city--wherever that may be. So called because the heads of the men are in the habit of leaving their bodies, and flying down to marshy places to feed on worms and crabs. A red ring is seen the night before the flight encircling the neck of the man whose head is about to fly. At daylight the head returns.

[16] A quotation from the admired works of Wang Po, a brilliant scholar and poet, who was drowned at the early age of twenty-eight, A.D. 675.

[17] I have hitherto failed in all attempts to identify this quotation.

[18] The cross-road of the “Five Fathers” is here mentioned, which the commentator tells us is merely the name of the place.

[19] The past, present, and future life, of the Buddhist system of metempsychosis.

[20] A certain man, who was staying at a temple, dreamt that an old priest appeared to him beneath a jade-stone cliff, and, pointing to a stick of burning incense, said to him, “That incense represents a vow to be fulfilled; but I say unto you, that ere its smoke shall have curled away, your three states of existence will have been already accomplished.” The meaning is that time on earth is as nothing to the Gods.

[21] This remark occurs in the fifteenth of the Confucian Gospels, section 22.

[22] The birth of a boy was formerly signalled by hanging a bow at the door; that of a girl, by displaying a small towel--indicative of the parts that each would hereafter play in the drama of life.

[23] See note 42 to No. II.

[24] Literally, “ploughing with my pen.”

[25] The _patra_ or bowl, used by Buddhist mendicants, in imitation of the celebrated alms-dish of Shâkyamuni Buddha.

[26] Literally, “scratched my head,” as is often done by the Chinese in perplexity or doubt.

[27] Alluding to the priest Dharma-nandi, who came from India to China, and tried to convert the Emperor Wu Ti of the Liang Dynasty; but, failing in his attempt, he retired full of mortification to a temple at Sung-shan, where he sat for nine years before a rock, until his own image was imprinted thereon.

[28] The six _gâti_ or conditions of existence, namely: angels, men, demons, hungry devils, brute beasts, and tortured sinners.

[29] Literally, “putting together the pieces under the forelegs (of foxes) to make robes.” This part of the fox-skin is the most valuable for making fur clothes.

[30] The work of a well-known writer, named Lin I-ch‘ing, who flourished during the Sung Dynasty.

[31] Alluding to an essay by Han Fei, a philosopher of the third century B.C., in which he laments the iniquity of the age in general, and the corruption of officials in particular. He finally committed suicide in prison, where he had been cast by the intrigues of a rival minister.

[32] Confucius (_Gospel_ xiv., sec. 37) said, “Alas! there is no one who knows me (to be what I am).”

[33] The great poet Tu Fu (A.D. 712-770) dreamt that his greater predecessor, Li T‘ai-po (A.D. 699-762) appeared to him, “coming when the maple-grove was in darkness, and returning while the frontier-pass was still obscured;”--that is, at night, when no one could see him; the meaning being that he never came at all, and that those “who know me (P‘u Sung-ling)” are equally non-existent.

[34] “Thus, since countless things exist that the senses _can_ take account of, it is evident that nothing exists that the senses can _not_ take account of.”--The “Professor” in W. H. Mallock’s _New Paul and Virginia_.

This passage recalls another curious classification by the great Chinese philosopher Han Wên-kung. “There are some things which possess form but are devoid of sound, as for instance jade and stones; others have sound but are without form, such as wind and thunder; others again have both form and sound, such as men and animals; and lastly, there is a class devoid of both, namely, _devils and spirits_.”

[35] I have never seen any of these works, but I believe they treat, as implied by their titles, chiefly of the supernatural world.

STRANGE STORIES

FROM A

CHINESE STUDIO.

I.

EXAMINATION FOR THE POST OF GUARDIAN ANGEL.[36]

My eldest sister’s husband’s grandfather, named Sung Tao, was a graduate.[37] One day, while lying down from indisposition, an official messenger arrived, bringing the usual notification in his hand and leading a horse with a white forehead, to summon him to the examination for his master’s degree. Mr. Sung here remarked that the Grand Examiner had not yet come, and asked why there should be this hurry. The messenger did not reply to this, but pressed so earnestly that at length Mr. Sung roused himself, and getting upon the horse rode with him. The way seemed strange, and by-and-by they reached a city which resembled the capital of a prince. They then entered the Prefect’s _yamên_,[38] the apartments of which were beautifully decorated; and there they found some ten officials sitting at the upper end, all strangers to Mr. Sung, with the exception of one whom he recognised to be the God of War.[39] In the verandah were two tables and two stools, and at the end of one of the former a candidate was already seated, so Mr. Sung sat down alongside of him. On the table were writing materials for each, and suddenly down flew a piece of paper with a theme on it, consisting of the following eight words:--“One man, two men; by intention, without intention.” When Mr. Sung had finished his essay, he took it into the hall. It contained the following passage: “Those who are virtuous by intention, though virtuous, shall not be rewarded. Those who are wicked without intention, though wicked, shall receive no punishment.” The presiding deities praised this sentiment very much, and calling Mr. Sung to come forward, said to him, “A Guardian Angel is wanted in Honan. Go you and take up the appointment.” Mr. Sung no sooner heard this than he bowed his head and wept, saying, “Unworthy though I am of the honour you have conferred upon me, I should not venture to decline it but that my aged mother has reached her seventh decade, and there is no one now to take care of her. I pray you let me wait until she has fulfilled her destiny, when I will hold myself at your disposal.” Thereupon one of the deities, who seemed to be the chief, gave instructions to search out his mother’s term of life, and a long-bearded attendant forthwith brought in the Book of Fate. On turning it over, he declared that she still had nine years to live; and then a consultation was held among the deities, in the middle of which the God of War said, “Very well. Let Mr. graduate Chang take the post, and be relieved in nine years’ time.” Then, turning to Mr. Sung, he continued, “You ought to proceed without delay to your post; but as a reward for your filial piety, you are granted a furlough of nine years. At the expiration of that time you will receive another summons.” He next addressed a few kind words to Mr. Chang; and the two candidates, having made their _kotow_, went away together. Grasping Mr. Sung’s hand, his companion, who gave “Chang Ch‘i of Ch‘ang-shan” as his name and address, accompanied him beyond the city walls and gave him a stanza of poetry at parting. I cannot recollect it all, but in it occurred this couplet:--

“With wine and flowers we chase the hours, In one eternal spring: No moon, no light, to cheer the night-- Thyself that ray must bring.”

Mr. Sung here left him and rode on, and before very long reached his own home; here he awaked as if from a dream, and found that he had been dead three days,[40] when his mother, hearing a groan in the coffin, ran to it and helped him out. It was some time before he could speak, and then he at once inquired about Ch‘ang-shan, where, as it turned out, a graduate named Chang had died that very day.

Nine years afterwards, Mr. Sung’s mother, in accordance with fate, passed from this life; and when the funeral obsequies were over, her son, having first purified himself, entered into his chamber and died also. Now his wife’s family lived within the city, near the western gate; and all of a sudden they beheld Mr. Sung, accompanied by numerous chariots and horses with carved trappings and red-tasselled bits, enter into the hall, make an obeisance, and depart. They were very much disconcerted at this, not knowing that he had become a spirit, and rushed out into the village to make inquiries, when they heard he was already dead. Mr. Sung had an account of his adventure written by himself; but unfortunately after the insurrection it was not to be found. This is only an outline of the story.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] The tutelar deity of every Chinese city.

[37] That is, he had taken the first or bachelor’s degree. I shall not hesitate to use strictly English equivalents for all kinds of Chinese terms. The three degrees are literally, (1) Cultivated Talent, (2) Raised Man, and (3) Promoted Scholar.

[38] The official residence of a mandarin above a certain rank.

[39] The Chinese Mars. A celebrated warrior, named Kuan Yü, who lived about the beginning of the third century of our era. He was raised after death to the rank of a God, and now plays a leading part in the Chinese Pantheon.

[40] Catalepsy, which is the explanation of many a story in this collection, would appear to be of very common occurrence amongst the Chinese. Such, however, is not the case; in which statement I am borne out by my friend, Dr. Manson, of Amoy, who, after many years’ practice among the natives of that port, and also of Formosa, informs me that he has never even heard of a single instance of this strange complaint.

II.

THE TALKING PUPILS.