Books and Bookmen [14]
clothes, as he, or she, recognises the presence of
a spectator, and prepares to give his or her best effects in the
familiar style.
Now in China and Japan certainly a ghost does not wait till people
enter the haunted room: a ghost, like a person of fashion, "goes
everywhere." Moreover, he has this artistic excellence, that very
often you don't know him from an embodied person. He counterfeits
mortality so cleverly that he (the ghost) has been known to
personate a candidate for honours, and pass an examination for him.
A pleasing example of this kind, illustrating the limitations of
ghosts, is told in Mr. Giles's book. A gentleman of Huai Shang
named Chou-t'ien-i had arrived at the age of fifty, but his family
consisted of but one son, a fine boy, "strangely averse from study,"
as if there were anything strange in THAT. One day the son
disappeared mysteriously, as people do from West Ham. In a year he
came back, said he had been detained in a Taoist monastery, and, to
all men's amazement, took to his books. Next year he obtained is
B.A. degree, a First Class. All the neighbourhood was overjoyed,
for Huai Shang was like Pembroke College (Oxford), where, according
to the poet, "First Class men are few and far between." It was who
should have the honour of giving his daughter as bride to this
intellectual marvel. A very nice girl was selected, but most
unexpectedly the B.A. would not marry. This nearly broke his
father's heart. The old gentleman knew, according to Chinese
belief, that if he had no grandchild there would be no one in the
next generation to feed his own ghost and pay it all the little
needful attentions. "Picture then the father naming and insisting
on the day;" till K'o-ch'ang, B.A., got up and ran away. His mother
tried to detain him, when his clothes "came off in her hand," and
the bachelor vanished! Next day appeared the real flesh and blood
son, who had been kidnapped and enslaved. The genuine K'o-ch'ang
was overjoyed to hear of his approaching nuptials. The rites were
duly celebrated, and in less than a year the old gentleman welcomed
his much-longed-for grand child. But, oddly enough, K'o-ch'ang,
though very jolly and universally beloved, was as stupid as ever,
and read nothing but the sporting intelligence in the newspapers.
It was now universally admitted that the learned K'o-ch'ang had been
an impostor, a clever ghost. It follows that ghosts can take a very
good degree; but ladies need not be afraid of marrying ghosts, owing
to the inveterate shyness of these learned spectres.
The Chinese ghost is by no means always a malevolent person, as,
indeed, has already been made clear from the affecting narrative of
the ghost who passed an examination. Even the spectre which answers
in China to the statue in 'Don Juan,' the statue which accepts
invitations to dinner, is anything but a malevolent guest. So much
may be gathered from the story of Chu and Lu. Chu was an
undergraduate of great courage and bodily vigour, but dull of wit.
He was a married man, and his children (as in the old Oxford legend)
often rushed into their mother's presence, shouting, "Mamma! mammal
papa's been plucked again!" Once it chanced that Chu was at a wine
party, and the negus (a favourite beverage of the Celestials) had
done its work. His young friends betted Chu a bird's-nest dinner
that he would not go to the nearest temple, enter the room devoted
to coloured sculptures representing the torments of Purgatory, and
carry off the image of the Chinese judge of the dead, their Osiris
or Rhadamanthus. Off went old Chu, and soon returned with the
august effigy (which wore "a green face, a red beard, and a hideous
expression") in his arms. The other men were frightened, and begged
Chu to restore his worship to his place on the infernal bench.
Before carrying back the worthy magistrate, Chu poured a libation on
the ground and said, "Whenever your excellency feels so disposed, I
shall be glad to take a cup of wine with you in a friendly way."
That very
a spectator, and prepares to give his or her best effects in the
familiar style.
Now in China and Japan certainly a ghost does not wait till people
enter the haunted room: a ghost, like a person of fashion, "goes
everywhere." Moreover, he has this artistic excellence, that very
often you don't know him from an embodied person. He counterfeits
mortality so cleverly that he (the ghost) has been known to
personate a candidate for honours, and pass an examination for him.
A pleasing example of this kind, illustrating the limitations of
ghosts, is told in Mr. Giles's book. A gentleman of Huai Shang
named Chou-t'ien-i had arrived at the age of fifty, but his family
consisted of but one son, a fine boy, "strangely averse from study,"
as if there were anything strange in THAT. One day the son
disappeared mysteriously, as people do from West Ham. In a year he
came back, said he had been detained in a Taoist monastery, and, to
all men's amazement, took to his books. Next year he obtained is
B.A. degree, a First Class. All the neighbourhood was overjoyed,
for Huai Shang was like Pembroke College (Oxford), where, according
to the poet, "First Class men are few and far between." It was who
should have the honour of giving his daughter as bride to this
intellectual marvel. A very nice girl was selected, but most
unexpectedly the B.A. would not marry. This nearly broke his
father's heart. The old gentleman knew, according to Chinese
belief, that if he had no grandchild there would be no one in the
next generation to feed his own ghost and pay it all the little
needful attentions. "Picture then the father naming and insisting
on the day;" till K'o-ch'ang, B.A., got up and ran away. His mother
tried to detain him, when his clothes "came off in her hand," and
the bachelor vanished! Next day appeared the real flesh and blood
son, who had been kidnapped and enslaved. The genuine K'o-ch'ang
was overjoyed to hear of his approaching nuptials. The rites were
duly celebrated, and in less than a year the old gentleman welcomed
his much-longed-for grand child. But, oddly enough, K'o-ch'ang,
though very jolly and universally beloved, was as stupid as ever,
and read nothing but the sporting intelligence in the newspapers.
It was now universally admitted that the learned K'o-ch'ang had been
an impostor, a clever ghost. It follows that ghosts can take a very
good degree; but ladies need not be afraid of marrying ghosts, owing
to the inveterate shyness of these learned spectres.
The Chinese ghost is by no means always a malevolent person, as,
indeed, has already been made clear from the affecting narrative of
the ghost who passed an examination. Even the spectre which answers
in China to the statue in 'Don Juan,' the statue which accepts
invitations to dinner, is anything but a malevolent guest. So much
may be gathered from the story of Chu and Lu. Chu was an
undergraduate of great courage and bodily vigour, but dull of wit.
He was a married man, and his children (as in the old Oxford legend)
often rushed into their mother's presence, shouting, "Mamma! mammal
papa's been plucked again!" Once it chanced that Chu was at a wine
party, and the negus (a favourite beverage of the Celestials) had
done its work. His young friends betted Chu a bird's-nest dinner
that he would not go to the nearest temple, enter the room devoted
to coloured sculptures representing the torments of Purgatory, and
carry off the image of the Chinese judge of the dead, their Osiris
or Rhadamanthus. Off went old Chu, and soon returned with the
august effigy (which wore "a green face, a red beard, and a hideous
expression") in his arms. The other men were frightened, and begged
Chu to restore his worship to his place on the infernal bench.
Before carrying back the worthy magistrate, Chu poured a libation on
the ground and said, "Whenever your excellency feels so disposed, I
shall be glad to take a cup of wine with you in a friendly way."
That very