LV.THE VIRTUOUS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.

LV.THE VIRTUOUS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.An Ta-ch‘êngwas a Chung-ch‘ing man. His father, who had gained the master’s degree, died early; and his brother Erh-ch‘êng was a mere boy. He himself had married a wife from the Ch‘ên family, whose name was Shan-hu; and this young lady had much to put up with from the violent and malicious disposition of her husband’s mother.[302]However, she never complained; and every morning dressed herself up smart, and went in to pay her respects to the old lady. Once when Ta-ch‘êng was ill, his mother abused Shan-hu for dressing so nicely; whereupon Shan-hu went back and changed her clothes; but even then Mrs. An was not satisfied, and began to tear her own hair with rage. Ta-ch‘êng, who was a very filial son, at once gave his wife a beating, and this put an end to the scene. From that moment his mother hated her more than ever, and although she was everything that a daughter-in-law could be, wouldnever exchange a word with her. Ta-ch‘êng then treated her in much the same way, that his mother might see he would have nothing to do with her; still the old lady wasn’t pleased, and was always blaming Shan-hu for every trifle that occurred. “A wife,” cried Ta-ch‘êng “is taken to wait upon her mother-in-law. This state of things hardly looks like the wife doing her duty.” So he bade Shan-hu begone,[303]and sent an old maid-servant to see her home: but when Shan-hu got outside the village-gate, she burst into tears, and said, “How can a girl who has failed in her duties as a wife ever dare to look her parents in the face? I had better die.” Thereupon she drew a pair of scissors and stabbed herself in the throat, covering herself immediately with blood. The servant prevented any further mischief, and supported her to the house of her husband’s aunt, who was a widow living by herself, and who made Shan-hu stay with her. The servant went back and told Ta-ch‘êng, and he bade her say nothing to any one, for fear his mother should hear of it. In a few days Shan-hu’s wound was healed, and Ta-ch‘êng went off to ask his aunt to send her away. His aunt invited him in, but he declined, demanding loudly that Shan-hu should be turned out; and in a few moments Shan-hu herself came forth, and inquired what she had done. Ta-ch‘êng said she had failed in her duty towards his mother; whereupon Shan-hu hung her headand made no answer, while tears of blood[304]trickled from her eyes and stained her dress all over. Ta-ch‘êng was much touched by this spectacle, and went away without saying any more; but before long his mother heard all about it, and, hurrying off to the aunt’s, began abusing her roundly. This the aunt would not stand, and said it was all the fault of her own bad temper, adding, “The girl has already left you, and has nothing more to do with the family. Miss Ch‘ên is staying with me, not your daughter-in-law; so you had better mind your own business.” This made Mrs. An furious; but she was at a loss for an answer, and, seeing that the aunt was firm, she went off home abashed and in tears.Shan-hu herself was very much upset, and determined to seek shelter elsewhere, finally taking up her abode with Mrs. An’s elder sister, a lady of sixty odd years of age, whose son had died, leaving his wife and child to his mother’s care. This Mrs. Yü was extremely fond of Shan-hu; and when she heard the facts of the case, said it was all her sister’s horrid disposition, and proposed to send Shan-hu back. The latter, however, would not hear of this, and they continued to live together like mother and daughter; neither would Shan-hu accept the invitation of her two brothers to return home and marry some one else, but remained there withMrs. Yü, earning enough to live upon by spinning and such work.Ever since Shan-hu had been sent away, Ta-ch‘êng’s mother had been endeavouring to get him another wife; but the fame of her temper had spread far and wide, and no one would entertain her proposals. In three or four years Erh-ch‘êng had grown up, and he was married first to a young lady named Tsang-ku, whose temper turned out to be something fearful, and far more ungovernable even than her mother-in-law’s. When the latter only looked angry, Tsang-ku was already at the shrieking stage; and Erh-ch‘êng, being of a very meek disposition, dared not side with either. Thus it came about that Mrs. An began to be in mortal fear of Tsang-ku; and whenever her daughter-in-law was in a rage she would try and turn off her anger with a smile. She seemed never to be able to please Tsang-ku, who in her turn worked her mother-in-law like a slave, Ta-ch‘êng himself not venturing to interfere, but only assisting his mother in washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. Mother and son would often go to some secluded spot, and there in secret tell their griefs to one another; but before long Mrs. An was stretched upon a sick bed with nobody to attend to her except Ta-ch‘êng. He watched her day and night without sleeping, until both eyes were red and inflamed; and then when he went to summon the younger son to take his place, Tsang-ku told him to leave the house. Ta-ch‘êng now went off to inform Mrs. Yü, hoping that she would come and assist; and he had hardly finished his tale of woe before Shan-huwalked in. In great confusion at seeing her, he would have left immediately had notShan-huheld out her arms across the door; whereupon he bolted underneath them and escaped. He did not dare tell his mother, and shortly afterwards Mrs. Yü arrived, to the great joy of Ta-ch‘êng’s mother, who made her stay in the house. Every day something nice was sent for Mrs. Yü, and even when she told the servants that there was no occasion for it, she having all she wanted at her sister’s, the things still came as usual. However, she kept none of them for herself, but gave what came to the invalid, who gradually began to improve. Mrs. Yü’s grandson also used to come by his mother’s orders, and inquire after the sick lady’s health, besides bringing a packet of cakes and so on for her. “Ah, me!” cried Mrs. An, “what a good daughter-in-law you have got, to be sure. What have you done to her?” “What sort of a person was the one you sent away?” asked her sister in reply. “She wasn’t as bad as some one I know of,” said Mrs. An, “though not so good as yours.” “When she was here you had but little to do,” replied Mrs. Yü; “and when you were angry she took no notice of it. How was she not as good?” Mrs. An then burst into tears, and saying how sorry she was, asked if Shan-hu had married again; to which Mrs. Yü replied that she did not know, but would make inquiries. In a few more days the patient was quite well, and Mrs. Yü proposed to return; her sister, however, begged her to stay, and declared she should die if she didn’t. Mrs. Yü then advised that Erh-ch‘êng and his wife shouldlive in a separate house, and Erh-ch‘êng spoke about it to his wife; but she would not agree, and abused both Ta-ch‘êng and his mother alike. It ended by Ta-ch‘êng giving up a large share of the property, and ultimately Tsang-ku consented, and a deed of separation was drawn up. Mrs. Yü then went away, returning next day with a sedan-chair to carry her sister back; and no sooner had the latter put her foot inside Mrs. Yü’s door, than she asked to see the daughter-in-law, whom she immediately began to praise very highly. “Ah,” said Mrs. Yü, “she’s a good girl, with her little faults like the rest of us; but your daughter-in-law is just as good, though you are not aware of it.” “Alas!” replied her sister, “I must have been as senseless as a statue not to have seen what she was.” “I wonder what Shan-hu, whom you turned out of doors, says of you,” rejoined Mrs. Yü. “Why, swears at me, of course,” answered Mrs. An. “If you examine yourself honestly and find nothing which should make people swear at you, is it at all likely you would be sworn at?” asked Mrs. Yü. “Well, all people are fallible,” replied the other, “and as I know she is not perfect, I conclude she would naturally swear at me.” “If a person has just cause for resentment, and yet does not indulge that resentment, such behaviour should meet with a grateful acknowledgment; or if any one has just cause for leaving another and yet does not do so, such behaviour should entitle them to kind treatment. Now, all the things that were sent when you were ill, and all the various little attentions, did notcome from my daughter-in-law but from yours.” Mrs. An was amazed at hearing this, and asked for some explanation; whereupon Mrs. Yü continued, “Shan-hu has been living here for a long time. Everything she sent to you was bought with money earned by her spinning, and that, too, continued late into the night.” Mrs. An here burst into tears, and begged to be allowed to see Shan-hu, who came in at Mrs. Yü’s summons, and threw herself on the ground at her mother-in-law’s feet. Mrs. An was much abashed, and beat her head with shame; but Mrs. Yü made it all up between them, and they became mother and daughter as at first. In about ten days they went home, and, as their property was not enough to support them, Ta-ch‘êng had to work with his pen while his wife did the same with her needle. Erh-ch‘êng was quite well off, but his brother would not apply to him, neither did he himself offer to help them. Tsang-ku, too, would have nothing to do with her sister-in-law, because she had been divorced; and Shan-hu in her turn, knowing what Tsang-ku’s temper was, made no great efforts to be friendly. So the two brothers lived apart;[305]and when Tsang-ku was in one of her outrageous moods, all the others would stop their ears, till at length there was only her husband and the servants upon whom to vent her spleen. One day a maid-servant of hers committedsuicide, and the father of the girl brought an action against Tsang-ku for having caused her death. Erh-ch‘êng went off to the mandarin’s to take her place as defendant, but only got a good beating for his pains, as the magistrate insisted that Tsang-ku herself should appear, and answer to the charge, in spite of all her friends could do. The consequence was she had her fingers squeezed[306]until the flesh was entirely taken off; and the magistrate, being a grasping man, a very severe fine was inflicted as well. Erh-ch‘êng had now to mortgage his property before he could raise enough money to get Tsang-ku released; but before long the mortgagee threatened to foreclose, and he was obliged to enter into negotiations for the sale of it to an old gentleman of the village named Jen. Now Mr. Jen, knowing that half the property had belonged to Ta-ch‘êng, said the deed of sale must be signed by the elder brother as well; however, when Ta-ch‘êng reached his house, the old man cried out, “I am Mr. An,M.A., who is this Jen that he should buy my property?” Then, looking at Ta-ch‘êng, he added, “The filial pietyof you and your wife has obtained for me in the realms below this interview;” upon which Ta-ch‘êng said, “O father, since you have this power, help my younger brother.” “The unfilial son and the vixenish daughter-in-law,” said the old man, “deserve no pity. Go home and quickly buy back our ancestral property.” “We have barely enough to live upon,” replied Ta-ch‘êng; “where, then, shall we find the necessary money?” “Beneath the crape myrtle-tree,”[307]answered his father, “you will find a store of silver, which you may take and use for this purpose.” Ta-ch‘êng would have questioned him further, but the old gentleman said no more, recovering consciousness shortly afterwards[308]without knowing a word of what had happened. Ta-ch‘êng went back and told his brother, who did not altogether believe the story; Tsang-ku, however, hurried off with a number of men, and had soon dug a hole four or five feet deep, at the bottom of which they found a quantity of bricks and stones, but no gold. She then gave up the idea and returned home, Ta-ch‘êng having meanwhile warned his mother and wife not to go near the place while she was digging. When Tsang-ku left, Mrs. An went herself to have a look, and seeing only bricks and earth mingled together, she, too, retraced her steps. Shan-hu was the next to go, and she found thehole full of silver bullion; and then Ta-ch‘êng repaired to the spot and saw that there was no mistake about it. Not thinking it right to apply this heir-loom to his own private use, he now summoned Erh-ch‘êng to share it; and having obtained twice as much as was necessary to redeem the estate, the brothers returned to their homes. Erh-ch‘êng and Tsang-ku opened their half together, when lo! the bag was full of tiles and rubbish. They at once suspected Ta-ch‘êng of deceiving them, and Erh-ch‘êng ran off to see how things were going at his brother’s. He arrived just as Ta-ch‘êng was spreading the silver on the table, and with his mother and wife rejoicing over their acquisition; and when he had told them what had occurred, Ta-ch‘êng expressed much sympathy for him, and at once presented him with his own half of the treasure. Erh-ch‘êng was delighted, and paid off the mortgage on the land, feeling very grateful to his brother for such kindness. Tsang-ku, however, declared it was a proof that Ta-ch‘êng had been cheating him; “for how, otherwise,” argued she, “can you understand a man sharing anything with another, and then resigning his own half?”Erh-ch‘êng himself did not know what to think of it; but next day the mortgagee sent to say that the money paid in was all imitation silver, and that he was about to lay the case before the authorities. Husband and wife were greatly alarmed at this, and Tsang-ku exclaimed, “Well, I never thought your brother was as bad as this. He’s simply trying to take your life.” Erh-ch‘ênghimself was in a terrible fright, and hurried off to the mortgagee to entreat for mercy; but as the latter was extremely angry and would hear of no compromise, Erh-ch‘êng was obliged to make over the property to him to dispose of himself. The money was then returned, and when he got home he found that two lumps had been cut through, shewing merely an outside layer of silver, about as thick as an onion-leaf, covering nothing but copper within. Tsang-ku and Erh-ch‘êng then agreed to keep the broken pieces themselves, but send the rest back to Ta-ch‘êng, with a message, saying that they were deeply indebted to him for all his kindness, and that they had ventured to retain two of the lumps of silver out of compliment to the giver; also that Ta-ch‘êng might consider himself the owner of the mortgaged land, which he could redeem or not as he pleased. Ta-ch‘êng, who did not perceive the intention in all this, refused to accept the land; however, Erh-ch‘êng entreated him to do so, and at last he consented. When he came to weigh the money, he found it was five ounces short, and therefore bade Shan-hu pawn something from her jewel-box to make up the amount, with which he proceeded to pay off the mortgage. The mortgagee, suspecting it was the same money that had been offered him by Erh-ch‘êng, cut the pieces in halves, and saw that it was all silver of the purest quality. Accordingly he accepted it in liquidation of his claim, and handed the mortgage back to Ta-ch‘êng. Meanwhile, Erh-ch‘êng had been expecting some catastrophe; but when he found that the mortgagedland had been redeemed, he did not know what to make of it. Tsang-ku thought that at the time of the digging Ta-ch‘êng had concealed the genuine silver, and immediately rushed off to his house, and began to revile them all round. Ta-ch‘êng now understood why they had sent him back the money; and Shan-hu laughed and said, “The property is safe; why, then, this anger?” Thereupon she made Ta-ch‘êng hand over the deeds to Tsang-ku.One night after this Erh-ch‘êng’s father appeared to him in a dream, and reproached him, saying, “Unfilial son, unfraternal brother, your hour is at hand. Wherefore usurp rights that do not belong to you?” In the morning Erh-ch‘êng told Tsang-ku of his dream, and proposed to return the property to his brother; but she only laughed at him for a fool. Just then the eldest of his two sons, a boy of seven, died of small-pox, and this frightened Tsang-ku so that she agreed to restore the deeds. Ta-ch‘êng would not accept them; and now the second child, a boy of three, died also; whereupon Tsang-ku seized the deeds, and threw them into her brother-in-law’s house. Spring was over, but the land was in a terribly neglected state; so Ta-ch‘êng set to work and put it in order again. From this moment Tsang-ku was a changed woman towards her mother- and sister-in-law; and when, six months later, Mrs. An died, she was so grieved that she refused to take any nourishment. “Alas!” cried she, “that my mother-in-law has died thus early, and prevented me from waiting upon her. Heaven will not allow me to retrieve mypast errors.” Tsang-ku had thirteen children,[309]but as none of them lived, they were obliged to adopt one of Ta-ch‘êng’s,[310]who, with his wife, lived to a good old age, and had three sons, two of whom took their doctor’s degree. People said this was a reward for filial piety and brotherly love.

An Ta-ch‘êngwas a Chung-ch‘ing man. His father, who had gained the master’s degree, died early; and his brother Erh-ch‘êng was a mere boy. He himself had married a wife from the Ch‘ên family, whose name was Shan-hu; and this young lady had much to put up with from the violent and malicious disposition of her husband’s mother.[302]However, she never complained; and every morning dressed herself up smart, and went in to pay her respects to the old lady. Once when Ta-ch‘êng was ill, his mother abused Shan-hu for dressing so nicely; whereupon Shan-hu went back and changed her clothes; but even then Mrs. An was not satisfied, and began to tear her own hair with rage. Ta-ch‘êng, who was a very filial son, at once gave his wife a beating, and this put an end to the scene. From that moment his mother hated her more than ever, and although she was everything that a daughter-in-law could be, wouldnever exchange a word with her. Ta-ch‘êng then treated her in much the same way, that his mother might see he would have nothing to do with her; still the old lady wasn’t pleased, and was always blaming Shan-hu for every trifle that occurred. “A wife,” cried Ta-ch‘êng “is taken to wait upon her mother-in-law. This state of things hardly looks like the wife doing her duty.” So he bade Shan-hu begone,[303]and sent an old maid-servant to see her home: but when Shan-hu got outside the village-gate, she burst into tears, and said, “How can a girl who has failed in her duties as a wife ever dare to look her parents in the face? I had better die.” Thereupon she drew a pair of scissors and stabbed herself in the throat, covering herself immediately with blood. The servant prevented any further mischief, and supported her to the house of her husband’s aunt, who was a widow living by herself, and who made Shan-hu stay with her. The servant went back and told Ta-ch‘êng, and he bade her say nothing to any one, for fear his mother should hear of it. In a few days Shan-hu’s wound was healed, and Ta-ch‘êng went off to ask his aunt to send her away. His aunt invited him in, but he declined, demanding loudly that Shan-hu should be turned out; and in a few moments Shan-hu herself came forth, and inquired what she had done. Ta-ch‘êng said she had failed in her duty towards his mother; whereupon Shan-hu hung her headand made no answer, while tears of blood[304]trickled from her eyes and stained her dress all over. Ta-ch‘êng was much touched by this spectacle, and went away without saying any more; but before long his mother heard all about it, and, hurrying off to the aunt’s, began abusing her roundly. This the aunt would not stand, and said it was all the fault of her own bad temper, adding, “The girl has already left you, and has nothing more to do with the family. Miss Ch‘ên is staying with me, not your daughter-in-law; so you had better mind your own business.” This made Mrs. An furious; but she was at a loss for an answer, and, seeing that the aunt was firm, she went off home abashed and in tears.

Shan-hu herself was very much upset, and determined to seek shelter elsewhere, finally taking up her abode with Mrs. An’s elder sister, a lady of sixty odd years of age, whose son had died, leaving his wife and child to his mother’s care. This Mrs. Yü was extremely fond of Shan-hu; and when she heard the facts of the case, said it was all her sister’s horrid disposition, and proposed to send Shan-hu back. The latter, however, would not hear of this, and they continued to live together like mother and daughter; neither would Shan-hu accept the invitation of her two brothers to return home and marry some one else, but remained there withMrs. Yü, earning enough to live upon by spinning and such work.

Ever since Shan-hu had been sent away, Ta-ch‘êng’s mother had been endeavouring to get him another wife; but the fame of her temper had spread far and wide, and no one would entertain her proposals. In three or four years Erh-ch‘êng had grown up, and he was married first to a young lady named Tsang-ku, whose temper turned out to be something fearful, and far more ungovernable even than her mother-in-law’s. When the latter only looked angry, Tsang-ku was already at the shrieking stage; and Erh-ch‘êng, being of a very meek disposition, dared not side with either. Thus it came about that Mrs. An began to be in mortal fear of Tsang-ku; and whenever her daughter-in-law was in a rage she would try and turn off her anger with a smile. She seemed never to be able to please Tsang-ku, who in her turn worked her mother-in-law like a slave, Ta-ch‘êng himself not venturing to interfere, but only assisting his mother in washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. Mother and son would often go to some secluded spot, and there in secret tell their griefs to one another; but before long Mrs. An was stretched upon a sick bed with nobody to attend to her except Ta-ch‘êng. He watched her day and night without sleeping, until both eyes were red and inflamed; and then when he went to summon the younger son to take his place, Tsang-ku told him to leave the house. Ta-ch‘êng now went off to inform Mrs. Yü, hoping that she would come and assist; and he had hardly finished his tale of woe before Shan-huwalked in. In great confusion at seeing her, he would have left immediately had notShan-huheld out her arms across the door; whereupon he bolted underneath them and escaped. He did not dare tell his mother, and shortly afterwards Mrs. Yü arrived, to the great joy of Ta-ch‘êng’s mother, who made her stay in the house. Every day something nice was sent for Mrs. Yü, and even when she told the servants that there was no occasion for it, she having all she wanted at her sister’s, the things still came as usual. However, she kept none of them for herself, but gave what came to the invalid, who gradually began to improve. Mrs. Yü’s grandson also used to come by his mother’s orders, and inquire after the sick lady’s health, besides bringing a packet of cakes and so on for her. “Ah, me!” cried Mrs. An, “what a good daughter-in-law you have got, to be sure. What have you done to her?” “What sort of a person was the one you sent away?” asked her sister in reply. “She wasn’t as bad as some one I know of,” said Mrs. An, “though not so good as yours.” “When she was here you had but little to do,” replied Mrs. Yü; “and when you were angry she took no notice of it. How was she not as good?” Mrs. An then burst into tears, and saying how sorry she was, asked if Shan-hu had married again; to which Mrs. Yü replied that she did not know, but would make inquiries. In a few more days the patient was quite well, and Mrs. Yü proposed to return; her sister, however, begged her to stay, and declared she should die if she didn’t. Mrs. Yü then advised that Erh-ch‘êng and his wife shouldlive in a separate house, and Erh-ch‘êng spoke about it to his wife; but she would not agree, and abused both Ta-ch‘êng and his mother alike. It ended by Ta-ch‘êng giving up a large share of the property, and ultimately Tsang-ku consented, and a deed of separation was drawn up. Mrs. Yü then went away, returning next day with a sedan-chair to carry her sister back; and no sooner had the latter put her foot inside Mrs. Yü’s door, than she asked to see the daughter-in-law, whom she immediately began to praise very highly. “Ah,” said Mrs. Yü, “she’s a good girl, with her little faults like the rest of us; but your daughter-in-law is just as good, though you are not aware of it.” “Alas!” replied her sister, “I must have been as senseless as a statue not to have seen what she was.” “I wonder what Shan-hu, whom you turned out of doors, says of you,” rejoined Mrs. Yü. “Why, swears at me, of course,” answered Mrs. An. “If you examine yourself honestly and find nothing which should make people swear at you, is it at all likely you would be sworn at?” asked Mrs. Yü. “Well, all people are fallible,” replied the other, “and as I know she is not perfect, I conclude she would naturally swear at me.” “If a person has just cause for resentment, and yet does not indulge that resentment, such behaviour should meet with a grateful acknowledgment; or if any one has just cause for leaving another and yet does not do so, such behaviour should entitle them to kind treatment. Now, all the things that were sent when you were ill, and all the various little attentions, did notcome from my daughter-in-law but from yours.” Mrs. An was amazed at hearing this, and asked for some explanation; whereupon Mrs. Yü continued, “Shan-hu has been living here for a long time. Everything she sent to you was bought with money earned by her spinning, and that, too, continued late into the night.” Mrs. An here burst into tears, and begged to be allowed to see Shan-hu, who came in at Mrs. Yü’s summons, and threw herself on the ground at her mother-in-law’s feet. Mrs. An was much abashed, and beat her head with shame; but Mrs. Yü made it all up between them, and they became mother and daughter as at first. In about ten days they went home, and, as their property was not enough to support them, Ta-ch‘êng had to work with his pen while his wife did the same with her needle. Erh-ch‘êng was quite well off, but his brother would not apply to him, neither did he himself offer to help them. Tsang-ku, too, would have nothing to do with her sister-in-law, because she had been divorced; and Shan-hu in her turn, knowing what Tsang-ku’s temper was, made no great efforts to be friendly. So the two brothers lived apart;[305]and when Tsang-ku was in one of her outrageous moods, all the others would stop their ears, till at length there was only her husband and the servants upon whom to vent her spleen. One day a maid-servant of hers committedsuicide, and the father of the girl brought an action against Tsang-ku for having caused her death. Erh-ch‘êng went off to the mandarin’s to take her place as defendant, but only got a good beating for his pains, as the magistrate insisted that Tsang-ku herself should appear, and answer to the charge, in spite of all her friends could do. The consequence was she had her fingers squeezed[306]until the flesh was entirely taken off; and the magistrate, being a grasping man, a very severe fine was inflicted as well. Erh-ch‘êng had now to mortgage his property before he could raise enough money to get Tsang-ku released; but before long the mortgagee threatened to foreclose, and he was obliged to enter into negotiations for the sale of it to an old gentleman of the village named Jen. Now Mr. Jen, knowing that half the property had belonged to Ta-ch‘êng, said the deed of sale must be signed by the elder brother as well; however, when Ta-ch‘êng reached his house, the old man cried out, “I am Mr. An,M.A., who is this Jen that he should buy my property?” Then, looking at Ta-ch‘êng, he added, “The filial pietyof you and your wife has obtained for me in the realms below this interview;” upon which Ta-ch‘êng said, “O father, since you have this power, help my younger brother.” “The unfilial son and the vixenish daughter-in-law,” said the old man, “deserve no pity. Go home and quickly buy back our ancestral property.” “We have barely enough to live upon,” replied Ta-ch‘êng; “where, then, shall we find the necessary money?” “Beneath the crape myrtle-tree,”[307]answered his father, “you will find a store of silver, which you may take and use for this purpose.” Ta-ch‘êng would have questioned him further, but the old gentleman said no more, recovering consciousness shortly afterwards[308]without knowing a word of what had happened. Ta-ch‘êng went back and told his brother, who did not altogether believe the story; Tsang-ku, however, hurried off with a number of men, and had soon dug a hole four or five feet deep, at the bottom of which they found a quantity of bricks and stones, but no gold. She then gave up the idea and returned home, Ta-ch‘êng having meanwhile warned his mother and wife not to go near the place while she was digging. When Tsang-ku left, Mrs. An went herself to have a look, and seeing only bricks and earth mingled together, she, too, retraced her steps. Shan-hu was the next to go, and she found thehole full of silver bullion; and then Ta-ch‘êng repaired to the spot and saw that there was no mistake about it. Not thinking it right to apply this heir-loom to his own private use, he now summoned Erh-ch‘êng to share it; and having obtained twice as much as was necessary to redeem the estate, the brothers returned to their homes. Erh-ch‘êng and Tsang-ku opened their half together, when lo! the bag was full of tiles and rubbish. They at once suspected Ta-ch‘êng of deceiving them, and Erh-ch‘êng ran off to see how things were going at his brother’s. He arrived just as Ta-ch‘êng was spreading the silver on the table, and with his mother and wife rejoicing over their acquisition; and when he had told them what had occurred, Ta-ch‘êng expressed much sympathy for him, and at once presented him with his own half of the treasure. Erh-ch‘êng was delighted, and paid off the mortgage on the land, feeling very grateful to his brother for such kindness. Tsang-ku, however, declared it was a proof that Ta-ch‘êng had been cheating him; “for how, otherwise,” argued she, “can you understand a man sharing anything with another, and then resigning his own half?”

Erh-ch‘êng himself did not know what to think of it; but next day the mortgagee sent to say that the money paid in was all imitation silver, and that he was about to lay the case before the authorities. Husband and wife were greatly alarmed at this, and Tsang-ku exclaimed, “Well, I never thought your brother was as bad as this. He’s simply trying to take your life.” Erh-ch‘ênghimself was in a terrible fright, and hurried off to the mortgagee to entreat for mercy; but as the latter was extremely angry and would hear of no compromise, Erh-ch‘êng was obliged to make over the property to him to dispose of himself. The money was then returned, and when he got home he found that two lumps had been cut through, shewing merely an outside layer of silver, about as thick as an onion-leaf, covering nothing but copper within. Tsang-ku and Erh-ch‘êng then agreed to keep the broken pieces themselves, but send the rest back to Ta-ch‘êng, with a message, saying that they were deeply indebted to him for all his kindness, and that they had ventured to retain two of the lumps of silver out of compliment to the giver; also that Ta-ch‘êng might consider himself the owner of the mortgaged land, which he could redeem or not as he pleased. Ta-ch‘êng, who did not perceive the intention in all this, refused to accept the land; however, Erh-ch‘êng entreated him to do so, and at last he consented. When he came to weigh the money, he found it was five ounces short, and therefore bade Shan-hu pawn something from her jewel-box to make up the amount, with which he proceeded to pay off the mortgage. The mortgagee, suspecting it was the same money that had been offered him by Erh-ch‘êng, cut the pieces in halves, and saw that it was all silver of the purest quality. Accordingly he accepted it in liquidation of his claim, and handed the mortgage back to Ta-ch‘êng. Meanwhile, Erh-ch‘êng had been expecting some catastrophe; but when he found that the mortgagedland had been redeemed, he did not know what to make of it. Tsang-ku thought that at the time of the digging Ta-ch‘êng had concealed the genuine silver, and immediately rushed off to his house, and began to revile them all round. Ta-ch‘êng now understood why they had sent him back the money; and Shan-hu laughed and said, “The property is safe; why, then, this anger?” Thereupon she made Ta-ch‘êng hand over the deeds to Tsang-ku.

One night after this Erh-ch‘êng’s father appeared to him in a dream, and reproached him, saying, “Unfilial son, unfraternal brother, your hour is at hand. Wherefore usurp rights that do not belong to you?” In the morning Erh-ch‘êng told Tsang-ku of his dream, and proposed to return the property to his brother; but she only laughed at him for a fool. Just then the eldest of his two sons, a boy of seven, died of small-pox, and this frightened Tsang-ku so that she agreed to restore the deeds. Ta-ch‘êng would not accept them; and now the second child, a boy of three, died also; whereupon Tsang-ku seized the deeds, and threw them into her brother-in-law’s house. Spring was over, but the land was in a terribly neglected state; so Ta-ch‘êng set to work and put it in order again. From this moment Tsang-ku was a changed woman towards her mother- and sister-in-law; and when, six months later, Mrs. An died, she was so grieved that she refused to take any nourishment. “Alas!” cried she, “that my mother-in-law has died thus early, and prevented me from waiting upon her. Heaven will not allow me to retrieve mypast errors.” Tsang-ku had thirteen children,[309]but as none of them lived, they were obliged to adopt one of Ta-ch‘êng’s,[310]who, with his wife, lived to a good old age, and had three sons, two of whom took their doctor’s degree. People said this was a reward for filial piety and brotherly love.

LVI.DR. TSÊNG’S DREAM.Therewas a Fohkien gentleman named Tsêng, who had just taken his doctor’s degree. One day he was out walking with several other recently-elected doctors, when they heard that at a temple hard by there lived an astrologer, and accordingly the party proceeded thither to get their fortunes told. They went in and sat down, and the astrologer made some very complimentary remarks to Tsêng, at which he fanned himself and smiled, saying, “Have I any chance of ever wearing the dragon robes and the jade girdle?”[311]The astrologer[312]immediately put on a serious face, and replied that he would be a Secretary of State during twenty years of national tranquillity. Thereupon Tsêng was much pleased, and began to give himself greater airs than ever. A slight rain coming on, they sought shelter in the priest’s quarters, where they found an old bonze, with sunken eyes and a big nose,sitting upon a mat. He took no notice of the strangers, who, after having bowed to him, stretched themselves upon the couches to chat, not forgetting to congratulate Tsêng upon the destiny which had been foretold him. Tsêng, too, seemed to think the thing was a matter of certainty, and mentioned the names of several friends he intended to advance, amongst others the old family butler. Roars of laughter greeted this announcement, mingled with the patter-patter of the increasing rain outside. Tsêng then curled himself up for a nap, when suddenly in walked two officials bearing a commission under the Great Seal appointing Tsêng to the Grand Secretariat. As soon as Tsêng understood their errand, he rushed off at once to pay his respects to the Emperor, who graciously detained him some time in conversation, and then issued instructions that the promotion and dismissal of all officers below the third grade[313]should be vested in Tsêng alone. He was next presented with the dragon robes, the jade girdle, and a horse from the imperial stables, after which he performed theko-t‘ow[314]before His Majesty and took his leave. He then went home, but it was no longer the old home of his youth. Painted beams, carved pillars, and a general profusion of luxury and elegance, made him wonder where on earth he was; until, nervously strokinghis beard, he ventured to call out in a low tone. Immediately the responses of numberless attendants echoed through the place like thunder. Presents of costly food were sent to him by all the grandees, and his gate was absolutely blocked up by the crowds of retainers who were constantly coming and going. When Privy Councillors came to see him, he would rush out in haste to receive them; when Under-Secretaries of State visited him, he made them a polite bow; but to all below these he would hardly vouchsafe a word. The Governor of Shansi sent him twelve singing-girls, two of whom, Ni-ni and Fairy, he made his favourites. All day long he had nothing to do but find amusement as best he could, until he bethought himself that formerly a man named Wang had often assisted him with money. Thereupon he memorialized the Throne and obtained official employment for him. Then he recollected that there was another man to whom he owed a long-standing grudge. He at once caused this man, who was in the Government service, to be impeached and stripped of his rank and dignities. Thus he squared accounts with both. One day when out in his chair a drunken man bumped against one of his tablet-bearers.[315]Tsêng had himseized and sent in to the mayor’s yamên, where he died under the bamboo. Owners of land adjoining his would make him a present of the richest portions, fearing the consequences if they did not do so; and thus he became very wealthy, almost on a par with the State itself. By-and-by, Ni-ni and Fairy died, and Tsêng was overwhelmed with grief. Suddenly he remembered that in former years he had seen a beautiful girl whom he wished to purchase as a concubine, but want of money had then prevented him from carrying out his intention. Now there was no longer that difficulty; and accordingly he sent off two trusty servants to get the girl by force. In a short time she arrived, when he found that she had grown more beautiful than ever; and so his cup of happiness was full. But years rolled on, and gradually his fellow-officials became estranged, Tsêng taking no notice of their behaviour, until at last one of them impeached him to the Throne in a long and bitter memorial. Happily, however, the Emperor still regarded him with favour, and for some time kept the memorial by himunanswered. Then followed a joint memorial from the whole of the Privy Council, including those who had once thronged his doors, and had falsely called him their dear father. The Imperial rescript to this document was “Banishment to Yunnan,”[316]his son, who was Governor of P‘ing-yang, being also implicated in his guilt. When Tsêng heard the news, he was overcome with fear; but an armed guard was already at his gate, and the lictors were forcing their way into his innermost apartments. They tore off his robe and official hat, and bound him and his wife with cords. Then they collected together in the hall his gold, his silver, and bank-notes,[317]to the value of many hundred thousands of taels. His pearls, and jade, and precious stones filled many bushel baskets. His curtains, and screens, and beds, and other articles of furniture were brought out by thousands; while the swaddling-clothes of his infant boy and the shoes of his little girl were lying littered about the steps. It was a sad sight for Tsêng; but a worse blow was that of his concubine carried off almost lifeless before his eyes, himself not daring to utter a word. Then all the apartments, store-rooms, and treasuries were sealed up; and, with a volley of curses, the soldiers bade Tsêng begone, and proceeded to leave the place, dragging Tsêng with them. Thehusband and wife prayed that they might be allowed some old cart, but this favour was denied them. After about tenli, Tsêng’s wife could barely walk, her feet being swollen and sore. Tsêng helped her along as best he could, but another tenlireduced him to a state of abject fatigue. By-and-by they saw before them a great mountain, the summit of which was lost in the clouds; and, fearing they should be made to ascend it, Tsêng and his wife stood still and began to weep. The lictors, however, clamoured round them, and would permit of no rest. The sun was rapidly sinking, and there was no place at hand where they could obtain shelter for the night. So they continued on their weary way until about half-way up the hill, when his wife’s strength was quite exhausted, and she sat down by the roadside. Tsêng, too, halted to rest in spite of the soldiers and their abuse; but they had hardly stopped a moment before down came a band of robbers upon them, each with a sharp knife in his hand. The soldiers immediately took to their heels, and Tsêng fell on his knees before the robbers, saying, “I am a poor criminal going into banishment, and have nothing to give you. I pray you spare my life.” But the robbers sternly replied, “We are all the victims of your crimes, and now we want your wicked head.” Then Tsêng began to revile them, saying, “Dogs! though I am under sentence of banishment, I am still an officer of the State.” But the robbers cursed him again, flourishing a sword over his neck, and the next thing he heard was the noise of his own head as it fell with a thud to the ground. Atthe same instant two devils stepped forward and seized him each by one hand, compelling him to go with them. After a little while they arrived at a great city where there was a hideously ugly king sitting upon a throne judging between good and evil. Tsêng crawled before him on his hands and knees to receive sentence, and the king, after turning over a few pages of his register, thundered out, “The punishment of a traitor who has brought misfortune on his country: the cauldron of boiling oil!” To this ten thousand devils responded with a cry like a clap of thunder, and one huge monster led Tsêng down alongside the cauldron, which was seven feet in height, and surrounded on all sides by blazing fuel, so that it was of a glowing red heat. Tsêng shrieked for mercy, but it was all up with him, for the devil seized him by the hair and the small of his back and pitched him headlong in. Down he fell with a splash, and rose and sank with the bubbling of the oil, which ate through his flesh into his very vitals. He longed to die, but death would not come to him. After about half-an-hour’s boiling, a devil took him out on a pitchfork and threw him down before the Infernal King, who again consulted his note-book, and said, “You relied on your position to treat others with contumely and injustice, for which you must suffer on the Sword-Hill.” Again he was led away by devils to a large hill thickly studded with sharp swords, their points upwards like the shoots of bamboo, with here and there the remains of many miserable wretches who had suffered before him. Tsêng again cried for mercy and crouched upon the ground;but a devil bored into him with a poisoned awl until he screamed with pain. He was then seized and flung up high into the air, falling down right on the sword points, to his most frightful agony. This was repeated several times until he was almost hacked to pieces. He was then brought once more before the king, who asked what was the amount of his peculations while on earth. Immediately an accountant came forward with an abacus, and said that the whole sum was 3,210,000 taels, whereupon the king replied, “Let him drink that amount.” Forthwith the devils piled up a great heap of gold and silver, and, when they had melted it in a huge crucible, began pouring it into Tsêng’s mouth. The pain was excruciating as the molten metal ran down his throat into his vitals; but since in life he had never been able to get enough of the dross, it was determined he should feel no lack of it then. He was half-a-day drinking it, and then the king ordered him away to be born again as a woman[318]in Kan-chou. A few steps brought them to a huge frame, where on an iron axle revolved a mighty wheel many hundredyojanas[319]in circumference, and shining with a brilliant light. The devils flogged Tsêng on to the wheel, and he shut his eyes as he stepped up. Then whiz—and away he went, feet foremost, round with the wheel, until he felt himself tumble off and acold thrill ran through him, when he opened his eyes and found he was changed into a girl. He saw his father and mother in rags and tatters, and in one corner a beggar’s bowl and a staff,[320]and understood the calamity that had befallen him. Day after day he begged about the streets, and his inside rumbled for want of food; he had no clothes to his back. At fourteen years of age he was sold to a gentleman as concubine; and then, though food and clothes were not wanting, he had to put up with the scoldings and floggings of the wife, who one day burnt him with a hot iron.[321]Luckily the gentleman took a fancy to him and treated him well, which kindness Tsêng repaid by an irreproachable fidelity. It happened, however, that on one occasion when they were chatting together, burglars broke into the house and killed the gentleman, Tsêng having escaped by hiding himself under the bed. Thereupon he was immediately charged by the wife with murder, and on being taken before the authorities was sentencedto die the “lingering death.”[322]This sentence was at once carried out with tortures more horrible than any in all the Courts of Purgatory, in the middle of which Tsêng heard one of his companions call out, “Hullo, there! you’ve got the nightmare.” Tsêng got up and rubbed his eyes, and his friends said, “It’s quite late in the day, and we’re all very hungry.” But the old priest smiled, and asked him if the prophecy as to his future rank was true or not. Tsêng bowed and begged him to explain; whereupon the old priest said, “For those who cultivate virtue, a lily will grow up even in the fiery pit.”[323]Tsêng had gone thither full of pride and vainglory; he went home an altered man. From that day he thought no more of becoming a Secretary of State, but retired into the hills, and I know not what became of him after that.

Therewas a Fohkien gentleman named Tsêng, who had just taken his doctor’s degree. One day he was out walking with several other recently-elected doctors, when they heard that at a temple hard by there lived an astrologer, and accordingly the party proceeded thither to get their fortunes told. They went in and sat down, and the astrologer made some very complimentary remarks to Tsêng, at which he fanned himself and smiled, saying, “Have I any chance of ever wearing the dragon robes and the jade girdle?”[311]The astrologer[312]immediately put on a serious face, and replied that he would be a Secretary of State during twenty years of national tranquillity. Thereupon Tsêng was much pleased, and began to give himself greater airs than ever. A slight rain coming on, they sought shelter in the priest’s quarters, where they found an old bonze, with sunken eyes and a big nose,sitting upon a mat. He took no notice of the strangers, who, after having bowed to him, stretched themselves upon the couches to chat, not forgetting to congratulate Tsêng upon the destiny which had been foretold him. Tsêng, too, seemed to think the thing was a matter of certainty, and mentioned the names of several friends he intended to advance, amongst others the old family butler. Roars of laughter greeted this announcement, mingled with the patter-patter of the increasing rain outside. Tsêng then curled himself up for a nap, when suddenly in walked two officials bearing a commission under the Great Seal appointing Tsêng to the Grand Secretariat. As soon as Tsêng understood their errand, he rushed off at once to pay his respects to the Emperor, who graciously detained him some time in conversation, and then issued instructions that the promotion and dismissal of all officers below the third grade[313]should be vested in Tsêng alone. He was next presented with the dragon robes, the jade girdle, and a horse from the imperial stables, after which he performed theko-t‘ow[314]before His Majesty and took his leave. He then went home, but it was no longer the old home of his youth. Painted beams, carved pillars, and a general profusion of luxury and elegance, made him wonder where on earth he was; until, nervously strokinghis beard, he ventured to call out in a low tone. Immediately the responses of numberless attendants echoed through the place like thunder. Presents of costly food were sent to him by all the grandees, and his gate was absolutely blocked up by the crowds of retainers who were constantly coming and going. When Privy Councillors came to see him, he would rush out in haste to receive them; when Under-Secretaries of State visited him, he made them a polite bow; but to all below these he would hardly vouchsafe a word. The Governor of Shansi sent him twelve singing-girls, two of whom, Ni-ni and Fairy, he made his favourites. All day long he had nothing to do but find amusement as best he could, until he bethought himself that formerly a man named Wang had often assisted him with money. Thereupon he memorialized the Throne and obtained official employment for him. Then he recollected that there was another man to whom he owed a long-standing grudge. He at once caused this man, who was in the Government service, to be impeached and stripped of his rank and dignities. Thus he squared accounts with both. One day when out in his chair a drunken man bumped against one of his tablet-bearers.[315]Tsêng had himseized and sent in to the mayor’s yamên, where he died under the bamboo. Owners of land adjoining his would make him a present of the richest portions, fearing the consequences if they did not do so; and thus he became very wealthy, almost on a par with the State itself. By-and-by, Ni-ni and Fairy died, and Tsêng was overwhelmed with grief. Suddenly he remembered that in former years he had seen a beautiful girl whom he wished to purchase as a concubine, but want of money had then prevented him from carrying out his intention. Now there was no longer that difficulty; and accordingly he sent off two trusty servants to get the girl by force. In a short time she arrived, when he found that she had grown more beautiful than ever; and so his cup of happiness was full. But years rolled on, and gradually his fellow-officials became estranged, Tsêng taking no notice of their behaviour, until at last one of them impeached him to the Throne in a long and bitter memorial. Happily, however, the Emperor still regarded him with favour, and for some time kept the memorial by himunanswered. Then followed a joint memorial from the whole of the Privy Council, including those who had once thronged his doors, and had falsely called him their dear father. The Imperial rescript to this document was “Banishment to Yunnan,”[316]his son, who was Governor of P‘ing-yang, being also implicated in his guilt. When Tsêng heard the news, he was overcome with fear; but an armed guard was already at his gate, and the lictors were forcing their way into his innermost apartments. They tore off his robe and official hat, and bound him and his wife with cords. Then they collected together in the hall his gold, his silver, and bank-notes,[317]to the value of many hundred thousands of taels. His pearls, and jade, and precious stones filled many bushel baskets. His curtains, and screens, and beds, and other articles of furniture were brought out by thousands; while the swaddling-clothes of his infant boy and the shoes of his little girl were lying littered about the steps. It was a sad sight for Tsêng; but a worse blow was that of his concubine carried off almost lifeless before his eyes, himself not daring to utter a word. Then all the apartments, store-rooms, and treasuries were sealed up; and, with a volley of curses, the soldiers bade Tsêng begone, and proceeded to leave the place, dragging Tsêng with them. Thehusband and wife prayed that they might be allowed some old cart, but this favour was denied them. After about tenli, Tsêng’s wife could barely walk, her feet being swollen and sore. Tsêng helped her along as best he could, but another tenlireduced him to a state of abject fatigue. By-and-by they saw before them a great mountain, the summit of which was lost in the clouds; and, fearing they should be made to ascend it, Tsêng and his wife stood still and began to weep. The lictors, however, clamoured round them, and would permit of no rest. The sun was rapidly sinking, and there was no place at hand where they could obtain shelter for the night. So they continued on their weary way until about half-way up the hill, when his wife’s strength was quite exhausted, and she sat down by the roadside. Tsêng, too, halted to rest in spite of the soldiers and their abuse; but they had hardly stopped a moment before down came a band of robbers upon them, each with a sharp knife in his hand. The soldiers immediately took to their heels, and Tsêng fell on his knees before the robbers, saying, “I am a poor criminal going into banishment, and have nothing to give you. I pray you spare my life.” But the robbers sternly replied, “We are all the victims of your crimes, and now we want your wicked head.” Then Tsêng began to revile them, saying, “Dogs! though I am under sentence of banishment, I am still an officer of the State.” But the robbers cursed him again, flourishing a sword over his neck, and the next thing he heard was the noise of his own head as it fell with a thud to the ground. Atthe same instant two devils stepped forward and seized him each by one hand, compelling him to go with them. After a little while they arrived at a great city where there was a hideously ugly king sitting upon a throne judging between good and evil. Tsêng crawled before him on his hands and knees to receive sentence, and the king, after turning over a few pages of his register, thundered out, “The punishment of a traitor who has brought misfortune on his country: the cauldron of boiling oil!” To this ten thousand devils responded with a cry like a clap of thunder, and one huge monster led Tsêng down alongside the cauldron, which was seven feet in height, and surrounded on all sides by blazing fuel, so that it was of a glowing red heat. Tsêng shrieked for mercy, but it was all up with him, for the devil seized him by the hair and the small of his back and pitched him headlong in. Down he fell with a splash, and rose and sank with the bubbling of the oil, which ate through his flesh into his very vitals. He longed to die, but death would not come to him. After about half-an-hour’s boiling, a devil took him out on a pitchfork and threw him down before the Infernal King, who again consulted his note-book, and said, “You relied on your position to treat others with contumely and injustice, for which you must suffer on the Sword-Hill.” Again he was led away by devils to a large hill thickly studded with sharp swords, their points upwards like the shoots of bamboo, with here and there the remains of many miserable wretches who had suffered before him. Tsêng again cried for mercy and crouched upon the ground;but a devil bored into him with a poisoned awl until he screamed with pain. He was then seized and flung up high into the air, falling down right on the sword points, to his most frightful agony. This was repeated several times until he was almost hacked to pieces. He was then brought once more before the king, who asked what was the amount of his peculations while on earth. Immediately an accountant came forward with an abacus, and said that the whole sum was 3,210,000 taels, whereupon the king replied, “Let him drink that amount.” Forthwith the devils piled up a great heap of gold and silver, and, when they had melted it in a huge crucible, began pouring it into Tsêng’s mouth. The pain was excruciating as the molten metal ran down his throat into his vitals; but since in life he had never been able to get enough of the dross, it was determined he should feel no lack of it then. He was half-a-day drinking it, and then the king ordered him away to be born again as a woman[318]in Kan-chou. A few steps brought them to a huge frame, where on an iron axle revolved a mighty wheel many hundredyojanas[319]in circumference, and shining with a brilliant light. The devils flogged Tsêng on to the wheel, and he shut his eyes as he stepped up. Then whiz—and away he went, feet foremost, round with the wheel, until he felt himself tumble off and acold thrill ran through him, when he opened his eyes and found he was changed into a girl. He saw his father and mother in rags and tatters, and in one corner a beggar’s bowl and a staff,[320]and understood the calamity that had befallen him. Day after day he begged about the streets, and his inside rumbled for want of food; he had no clothes to his back. At fourteen years of age he was sold to a gentleman as concubine; and then, though food and clothes were not wanting, he had to put up with the scoldings and floggings of the wife, who one day burnt him with a hot iron.[321]Luckily the gentleman took a fancy to him and treated him well, which kindness Tsêng repaid by an irreproachable fidelity. It happened, however, that on one occasion when they were chatting together, burglars broke into the house and killed the gentleman, Tsêng having escaped by hiding himself under the bed. Thereupon he was immediately charged by the wife with murder, and on being taken before the authorities was sentencedto die the “lingering death.”[322]This sentence was at once carried out with tortures more horrible than any in all the Courts of Purgatory, in the middle of which Tsêng heard one of his companions call out, “Hullo, there! you’ve got the nightmare.” Tsêng got up and rubbed his eyes, and his friends said, “It’s quite late in the day, and we’re all very hungry.” But the old priest smiled, and asked him if the prophecy as to his future rank was true or not. Tsêng bowed and begged him to explain; whereupon the old priest said, “For those who cultivate virtue, a lily will grow up even in the fiery pit.”[323]Tsêng had gone thither full of pride and vainglory; he went home an altered man. From that day he thought no more of becoming a Secretary of State, but retired into the hills, and I know not what became of him after that.

LVII.THE COUNTRY OF THE CANNIBALS.[324]AtChiao-chou[325]there lived a man named Hsü, who gained his living by trading across the sea. On one occasion he was carried far out of his course by a violent tempest, and reached a country of high hills and dense jungle,[326]where, after making fast his boat and taking provisions with him, he landed, hoping to meet with some of the inhabitants. He then saw that the rocks were covered with large holes, like the cells of bees; and, hearing the sound of voices from within, he stopped in front of one of them and peeped in. To his infinite horror he beheld two hideous beings, with thick rows of horrid fangs, and eyes that glared like lamps, engaged in tearing to pieces and devouring some raw deer’s flesh; and, turning round, he would have fled instantly fromthe spot, had not the cave-men already espied him; and, leaving their food, they seized him and dragged him in. Thereupon ensued a chattering between them, resembling the noise of birds or beasts,[327]and they proceeded to pull off Hsü’s clothes as if about to eat him; but Hsü, who was frightened almost to death, offered them the food he had in his wallet, which they ate up with great relish, and looked inside for more. Hsü waved his hand to shew it was all finished, and then they angrily seized him again; at which he cried out, “I have a saucepan in my boat, and can cook you some.” The cave-men did not understand what he said; but, by dint of gesticulating freely, they at length seemed to have an idea of what he meant; and, having taken him down to the shore to fetch the saucepan, they returned with him to the cave, where he lighted a fire and cooked the remainder of the deer, with the flavour of which they appeared to be mightily pleased. At night they rolled a big stone to the mouth of the cave,[328]fearing lest he should try to escape; and Hsü himself lay down at a distance from them in doubt as to whether his life would be spared. At daybreak the cave-men went out, leavingthe entrance blocked, and by-and-by came back with a deer, which they gave to Hsü to cook. Hsü flayed the carcase, and from a remote corner of the cave took some water and prepared a large quantity, which was no sooner ready than several other cave-men arrived to join in the feast. When they had finished all there was, they made signs that Hsü’s saucepan was too small; and three or four days afterwards they brought him a large one of the same shape as those in common use amongst men, subsequently furnishing him with constant supplies of wolf and deer,[329]of which they always invited him to partake. By degrees they began to treat him kindly, and not to shut him up when they went out; and Hsü, too, gradually learnt to understand, and even to speak, a little of their language, which pleased them so much that they finally gave him a cave-woman for his wife. Hsü was horribly afraid of her; but, as she treated him with great consideration, always reserving tit-bits of food for him, they lived very happily together. One day all the cave-people got up early in the morning, and, having adorned themselves with strings of fine pearls, they went forth as if to meet some honoured guest, giving orders to Hsü to cook an extra quantity of meat that day. “It is the birthday of our King,” said Hsü’s wife to him; and then, running out, she informed the other cave-peoplethat her husband had no pearls. So each gave five from his own string, and Hsü’s wife added ten to these, making in all fifty, which she threaded on a hempen fibre and hung around his neck, each pearl being worth over an hundred ounces of silver. Then they went away, and as soon as Hsü had finished his cooking, his wife appeared and invited him to come and receive the King. So off they went to a huge cavern, covering about a mow[330]of ground, in which was a huge stone, smoothed away at the top like a table, with stone seats at the four sides. At the upper end was a dais, over which was spread a leopard’s skin, the other seats having only deer-skins; and within the cavern some twenty or thirty cave-men ranged themselves on the seats. After a short interval a great wind began to stir up the dust, and they all rushed out to a creature very much resembling themselves, which hurried into the cave, and, squatting down cross-legged, cocked its head and looked about like a cormorant. The other cave-men then filed in and took up their positions right and left of the dais, where they stood gazing up at the King with their arms folded before them in the form of a cross. The King counted them one by one, and asked if they were all present; and when they replied in the affirmative, he looked at Hsü and inquired who he was. Thereupon Hsü’s wifestepped forward and said he was her husband, and the others all loudly extolled his skill in cookery, two of them running out and bringing back some cooked meat, which they set before the King. His Majesty swallowed it by handfuls, and found it so nice that he gave orders to be supplied regularly; and then, turning to Hsü, he asked him why his string of beads[331]was so short. “He has but recently arrived among us,” replied the cave-men, “and hasn’t got a complete set;” upon which the King drew ten pearls from the string round his own neck and bestowed them upon Hsü. Each was as big as the top of one’s finger, and as round as a bullet; and Hsü’s wife threaded them for him and hung them round his neck. Hsü himself crossed his arms and thanked the King in the language of the country, after which His Majesty went off in a gust of wind as rapidly as a bird can fly, and the cave-men sat down and finished what was left of the banquet. Four years afterwards Hsü’s wife gave birth to a triplet of two boys and one girl, all of whom were ordinary human beings, and not at all like the mother; at which the other cave-people were delighted, and would often play with them and caress them.[332]Three years passed away, and the childrencould walk about, after which their father taught them to speak his own tongue; and in their early babblings their human origin was manifested. The boys, as mere children, could climb about on the mountains as easily as though walking upon a level road; and between them and their father there grew up a mutual feeling of attachment. One day the mother had gone out with the girl and one of the boys, and was absent for a long time. A strong north wind was blowing, and Hsü, filled with thoughts of his old home, led his other son down with him to the beach, where lay the boat in which he had formerly reached this country. He then proposed to the boy that they should go away together; and, having explained to him that they could not inform his mother, father and son stepped on board, and, after a voyage of only twenty-four hours, arrived safely at Chiao-chou. On reaching home Hsü found that his wife had married again; so he sold two of his pearls for an enormous sum of money,[333]and set up a splendid establishment. His son was called Piao, and at fourteen or fifteen years of age the boy could lift a weight of three thousand catties[334](4,000 lbs.). He was extremely fond of athletics of all kinds, and thus attracted the notice of the Commander-in-Chief,who gave him a commission as sub-lieutenant. Just at that time there happened to be some trouble on the frontier, and young Piao, having covered himself with glory, was made a colonel at the age of eighteen.About that time another merchant was driven by stress of weather to the country of the cave-men, and had hardly stepped ashore before he observed a young man whom he knew at once to be of Chinese origin. The young man asked him whence he came, and finally took him into a cave hid away in a dark valley and concealed by the dense jungle. There he bade him remain, and in a little while he returned with some deer’s flesh, which he gave the merchant to eat, saying at the same time that his own father was a Chiao-chou man. The merchant now knew that the young man was Hsü’s son, he himself being acquainted with Hsü as a trader in the same line of business. “Why, he’s an old friend of mine,” cried the latter; “his other son is now a colonel.” The young man did not know what was meant by acolonel, so the merchant told him it was the title of a Chinese mandarin. “And what is amandarin?” asked the youth. “A mandarin,” replied the merchant, “is one who goes out with a chair and horses; who at home sits upon a dais in the hall; whose summons is answered by a hundred voices; who is looked at only with sidelong eyes, and in whose presence all people stand aslant;—this is to be a mandarin.” The young man was deeply touched at this recital, and at length the merchant said to him, “Since your honoured father is at Chiao-chou, why do you remain here?” “Indeed,”replied the youth, “I have often indulged the same feeling; but my mother is not a Chinese woman, and, apart from the difference of her language and appearance, I fear that if the other cave-people found it out they would do us some mischief.” He then took his leave, being in rather a disturbed state of mind, and bade the merchant wait until the wind should prove favourable,[335]when he promised to come and see him off, and charge him with a letter to his father and brother. Six months the merchant remained in that cave, occasionally taking a peep at the cave-people passing backwards and forwards, but not daring to leave his retreat. As soon as the monsoon set in the young man arrived and urged him to hurry away, begging him, also, not to forget the letter to his father. So the merchant sailed away and soon reached Chiao-chou, where he visited the colonel and told him the whole story. Piao was much affected, and wished to go in search of those members of the family; but his father feared the dangers he would encounter, and advised him not to think of such a thing. However, Piao was not to be deterred; and having imparted his scheme to the commander-in-chief, he took with him two soldiers and set off. Adverse winds prevailed at that time, and they beat about for half a moon, until they were out of sight of all land, could not see a foot before them, and had completely lost their reckoning. Just then a mighty sea arose and capsizedtheir boat, tossing Piao into the water, where he floated about for some time at the will of the waves, until suddenly somebody dragged him out and carried him into a house. Then he saw that his rescuer was to all appearances a cave-man, and accordingly he addressed him in the cave-people’s language, and told him whither he himself was bound. “It is my native place,” replied the cave-man, in astonishment; “but you will excuse my saying that you are now 8,000liout of your course. This is the way to the country of the Poisonous Dragons, and not your route at all.” He then went off to find a boat for Piao, and, himself swimming in the water behind, pushed it along like an arrow from a bow, so quickly that by the next day they had traversed the whole distance. On the shore Piao observed a young man walking up and down and evidently watching him; and, knowing that no human beings dwelt there, he guessed at once that he was his brother. Approaching more closely, he saw that he was right; and, seizing the young man’s hand, he asked after his mother and sister. On hearing that they were well, he would have gone directly to see them; but the younger one begged him not to do so, and ran away himself to fetch them. Meanwhile, Piao turned to thank the cave-man who had brought him there, but he, too, had disappeared. In a few minutes his mother and sister arrived, and, on seeing Piao, they could not restrain their tears. Piao then laid his scheme before them, and when they said they feared people would ill-treat them, he replied, “In China I hold a high position, and people will not dare to shewyou disrespect.” Thus they determined to go. The wind, however, was against them, and mother and son were at a loss what to do, when suddenly the sail bellied out towards the south, and a rustling sound was heard. “Heaven helps us, my mother!” cried Piao, full of joy; and, hurrying on board at once, in three days they had reached their destination. As they landed the people fled right and left in fear, Piao having divided his own clothes amongst the party; and when they arrived at the house, and his mother saw Hsü, she began to rate him soundly for running away without her. Hsü hastened to acknowledge his error, and then all the family and servants were introduced to her, each one being in mortal dread of such a singular personage. Piao now bade his mother learn to talk Chinese, and gave her any quantity of fine clothes and rich meats, to the infinite delight of the old lady. She and her daughter both dressed in man’s clothes, and by the end of a few months were able to understand what was said to them. The brother, named Pao [Leopard], and the sister, Yeh [Night], were both clever enough, and immensely strong into the bargain. Piao was ashamed that Pao could not read, and set to work to teach him; and the youngster was so quick that he learnt the sacred books[336]and histories by merely reading them once over. However, he would not enter upon a literary career, loving better to draw a strong bow or ride a spirited horse, and finallytaking the highest military degree. He married the daughter of a post-captain; but his sister had some trouble in getting a husband, because of her being the child of a cave-woman. At length a serjeant, named Yüan, who was under her brother’s command, was forced to take her as his wife. She could draw a hundred-catty bow, and shoot birds at a hundred paces without ever missing. Whenever Yüan went to battle she went with him; and his subsequent rise to high rank was chiefly due to her. At thirty-four years of age Pao got a command; and in his great battles his mother, clad in armour and grasping a spear, would fight by his side, to the terror of all their adversaries; and when he himself received the dignity of an hereditary title, he memorialized the Throne to grant his mother the title of “lady.”

AtChiao-chou[325]there lived a man named Hsü, who gained his living by trading across the sea. On one occasion he was carried far out of his course by a violent tempest, and reached a country of high hills and dense jungle,[326]where, after making fast his boat and taking provisions with him, he landed, hoping to meet with some of the inhabitants. He then saw that the rocks were covered with large holes, like the cells of bees; and, hearing the sound of voices from within, he stopped in front of one of them and peeped in. To his infinite horror he beheld two hideous beings, with thick rows of horrid fangs, and eyes that glared like lamps, engaged in tearing to pieces and devouring some raw deer’s flesh; and, turning round, he would have fled instantly fromthe spot, had not the cave-men already espied him; and, leaving their food, they seized him and dragged him in. Thereupon ensued a chattering between them, resembling the noise of birds or beasts,[327]and they proceeded to pull off Hsü’s clothes as if about to eat him; but Hsü, who was frightened almost to death, offered them the food he had in his wallet, which they ate up with great relish, and looked inside for more. Hsü waved his hand to shew it was all finished, and then they angrily seized him again; at which he cried out, “I have a saucepan in my boat, and can cook you some.” The cave-men did not understand what he said; but, by dint of gesticulating freely, they at length seemed to have an idea of what he meant; and, having taken him down to the shore to fetch the saucepan, they returned with him to the cave, where he lighted a fire and cooked the remainder of the deer, with the flavour of which they appeared to be mightily pleased. At night they rolled a big stone to the mouth of the cave,[328]fearing lest he should try to escape; and Hsü himself lay down at a distance from them in doubt as to whether his life would be spared. At daybreak the cave-men went out, leavingthe entrance blocked, and by-and-by came back with a deer, which they gave to Hsü to cook. Hsü flayed the carcase, and from a remote corner of the cave took some water and prepared a large quantity, which was no sooner ready than several other cave-men arrived to join in the feast. When they had finished all there was, they made signs that Hsü’s saucepan was too small; and three or four days afterwards they brought him a large one of the same shape as those in common use amongst men, subsequently furnishing him with constant supplies of wolf and deer,[329]of which they always invited him to partake. By degrees they began to treat him kindly, and not to shut him up when they went out; and Hsü, too, gradually learnt to understand, and even to speak, a little of their language, which pleased them so much that they finally gave him a cave-woman for his wife. Hsü was horribly afraid of her; but, as she treated him with great consideration, always reserving tit-bits of food for him, they lived very happily together. One day all the cave-people got up early in the morning, and, having adorned themselves with strings of fine pearls, they went forth as if to meet some honoured guest, giving orders to Hsü to cook an extra quantity of meat that day. “It is the birthday of our King,” said Hsü’s wife to him; and then, running out, she informed the other cave-peoplethat her husband had no pearls. So each gave five from his own string, and Hsü’s wife added ten to these, making in all fifty, which she threaded on a hempen fibre and hung around his neck, each pearl being worth over an hundred ounces of silver. Then they went away, and as soon as Hsü had finished his cooking, his wife appeared and invited him to come and receive the King. So off they went to a huge cavern, covering about a mow[330]of ground, in which was a huge stone, smoothed away at the top like a table, with stone seats at the four sides. At the upper end was a dais, over which was spread a leopard’s skin, the other seats having only deer-skins; and within the cavern some twenty or thirty cave-men ranged themselves on the seats. After a short interval a great wind began to stir up the dust, and they all rushed out to a creature very much resembling themselves, which hurried into the cave, and, squatting down cross-legged, cocked its head and looked about like a cormorant. The other cave-men then filed in and took up their positions right and left of the dais, where they stood gazing up at the King with their arms folded before them in the form of a cross. The King counted them one by one, and asked if they were all present; and when they replied in the affirmative, he looked at Hsü and inquired who he was. Thereupon Hsü’s wifestepped forward and said he was her husband, and the others all loudly extolled his skill in cookery, two of them running out and bringing back some cooked meat, which they set before the King. His Majesty swallowed it by handfuls, and found it so nice that he gave orders to be supplied regularly; and then, turning to Hsü, he asked him why his string of beads[331]was so short. “He has but recently arrived among us,” replied the cave-men, “and hasn’t got a complete set;” upon which the King drew ten pearls from the string round his own neck and bestowed them upon Hsü. Each was as big as the top of one’s finger, and as round as a bullet; and Hsü’s wife threaded them for him and hung them round his neck. Hsü himself crossed his arms and thanked the King in the language of the country, after which His Majesty went off in a gust of wind as rapidly as a bird can fly, and the cave-men sat down and finished what was left of the banquet. Four years afterwards Hsü’s wife gave birth to a triplet of two boys and one girl, all of whom were ordinary human beings, and not at all like the mother; at which the other cave-people were delighted, and would often play with them and caress them.[332]Three years passed away, and the childrencould walk about, after which their father taught them to speak his own tongue; and in their early babblings their human origin was manifested. The boys, as mere children, could climb about on the mountains as easily as though walking upon a level road; and between them and their father there grew up a mutual feeling of attachment. One day the mother had gone out with the girl and one of the boys, and was absent for a long time. A strong north wind was blowing, and Hsü, filled with thoughts of his old home, led his other son down with him to the beach, where lay the boat in which he had formerly reached this country. He then proposed to the boy that they should go away together; and, having explained to him that they could not inform his mother, father and son stepped on board, and, after a voyage of only twenty-four hours, arrived safely at Chiao-chou. On reaching home Hsü found that his wife had married again; so he sold two of his pearls for an enormous sum of money,[333]and set up a splendid establishment. His son was called Piao, and at fourteen or fifteen years of age the boy could lift a weight of three thousand catties[334](4,000 lbs.). He was extremely fond of athletics of all kinds, and thus attracted the notice of the Commander-in-Chief,who gave him a commission as sub-lieutenant. Just at that time there happened to be some trouble on the frontier, and young Piao, having covered himself with glory, was made a colonel at the age of eighteen.

About that time another merchant was driven by stress of weather to the country of the cave-men, and had hardly stepped ashore before he observed a young man whom he knew at once to be of Chinese origin. The young man asked him whence he came, and finally took him into a cave hid away in a dark valley and concealed by the dense jungle. There he bade him remain, and in a little while he returned with some deer’s flesh, which he gave the merchant to eat, saying at the same time that his own father was a Chiao-chou man. The merchant now knew that the young man was Hsü’s son, he himself being acquainted with Hsü as a trader in the same line of business. “Why, he’s an old friend of mine,” cried the latter; “his other son is now a colonel.” The young man did not know what was meant by acolonel, so the merchant told him it was the title of a Chinese mandarin. “And what is amandarin?” asked the youth. “A mandarin,” replied the merchant, “is one who goes out with a chair and horses; who at home sits upon a dais in the hall; whose summons is answered by a hundred voices; who is looked at only with sidelong eyes, and in whose presence all people stand aslant;—this is to be a mandarin.” The young man was deeply touched at this recital, and at length the merchant said to him, “Since your honoured father is at Chiao-chou, why do you remain here?” “Indeed,”replied the youth, “I have often indulged the same feeling; but my mother is not a Chinese woman, and, apart from the difference of her language and appearance, I fear that if the other cave-people found it out they would do us some mischief.” He then took his leave, being in rather a disturbed state of mind, and bade the merchant wait until the wind should prove favourable,[335]when he promised to come and see him off, and charge him with a letter to his father and brother. Six months the merchant remained in that cave, occasionally taking a peep at the cave-people passing backwards and forwards, but not daring to leave his retreat. As soon as the monsoon set in the young man arrived and urged him to hurry away, begging him, also, not to forget the letter to his father. So the merchant sailed away and soon reached Chiao-chou, where he visited the colonel and told him the whole story. Piao was much affected, and wished to go in search of those members of the family; but his father feared the dangers he would encounter, and advised him not to think of such a thing. However, Piao was not to be deterred; and having imparted his scheme to the commander-in-chief, he took with him two soldiers and set off. Adverse winds prevailed at that time, and they beat about for half a moon, until they were out of sight of all land, could not see a foot before them, and had completely lost their reckoning. Just then a mighty sea arose and capsizedtheir boat, tossing Piao into the water, where he floated about for some time at the will of the waves, until suddenly somebody dragged him out and carried him into a house. Then he saw that his rescuer was to all appearances a cave-man, and accordingly he addressed him in the cave-people’s language, and told him whither he himself was bound. “It is my native place,” replied the cave-man, in astonishment; “but you will excuse my saying that you are now 8,000liout of your course. This is the way to the country of the Poisonous Dragons, and not your route at all.” He then went off to find a boat for Piao, and, himself swimming in the water behind, pushed it along like an arrow from a bow, so quickly that by the next day they had traversed the whole distance. On the shore Piao observed a young man walking up and down and evidently watching him; and, knowing that no human beings dwelt there, he guessed at once that he was his brother. Approaching more closely, he saw that he was right; and, seizing the young man’s hand, he asked after his mother and sister. On hearing that they were well, he would have gone directly to see them; but the younger one begged him not to do so, and ran away himself to fetch them. Meanwhile, Piao turned to thank the cave-man who had brought him there, but he, too, had disappeared. In a few minutes his mother and sister arrived, and, on seeing Piao, they could not restrain their tears. Piao then laid his scheme before them, and when they said they feared people would ill-treat them, he replied, “In China I hold a high position, and people will not dare to shewyou disrespect.” Thus they determined to go. The wind, however, was against them, and mother and son were at a loss what to do, when suddenly the sail bellied out towards the south, and a rustling sound was heard. “Heaven helps us, my mother!” cried Piao, full of joy; and, hurrying on board at once, in three days they had reached their destination. As they landed the people fled right and left in fear, Piao having divided his own clothes amongst the party; and when they arrived at the house, and his mother saw Hsü, she began to rate him soundly for running away without her. Hsü hastened to acknowledge his error, and then all the family and servants were introduced to her, each one being in mortal dread of such a singular personage. Piao now bade his mother learn to talk Chinese, and gave her any quantity of fine clothes and rich meats, to the infinite delight of the old lady. She and her daughter both dressed in man’s clothes, and by the end of a few months were able to understand what was said to them. The brother, named Pao [Leopard], and the sister, Yeh [Night], were both clever enough, and immensely strong into the bargain. Piao was ashamed that Pao could not read, and set to work to teach him; and the youngster was so quick that he learnt the sacred books[336]and histories by merely reading them once over. However, he would not enter upon a literary career, loving better to draw a strong bow or ride a spirited horse, and finallytaking the highest military degree. He married the daughter of a post-captain; but his sister had some trouble in getting a husband, because of her being the child of a cave-woman. At length a serjeant, named Yüan, who was under her brother’s command, was forced to take her as his wife. She could draw a hundred-catty bow, and shoot birds at a hundred paces without ever missing. Whenever Yüan went to battle she went with him; and his subsequent rise to high rank was chiefly due to her. At thirty-four years of age Pao got a command; and in his great battles his mother, clad in armour and grasping a spear, would fight by his side, to the terror of all their adversaries; and when he himself received the dignity of an hereditary title, he memorialized the Throne to grant his mother the title of “lady.”

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