FABLES AND PROVERBIAL LORE.
Chinese Fables numerous—Absence of Native Collections of
Fables—Indo-Chinese Fables—Mr. Thom, and his Translation of
Æsop—The Earliest Chinese Fable—Comparative Antiquity of the Fable
in China and Greece—The Cat and the Mice—Offering a White Pig—Men
and Snakes—The Ass and the Oxen—The Tiger and the Monkey, Ass, Fox,
&c.—The Geese and the Tortoise—The Brother’s Boots—The Crows and
the Owls—The King and the Mill Horses—Borrowing Trouble—The Blind
Man and the Lame Man—The Folly of Avarice—Proverbs, their Extensive
Use in China—Writings of Messrs. Lister and Scarborough—A
Comparison of well-known Chinese and English Proverbs—The Chinese
word for “Heaven”—Conclusion, pp. 146–156.
ERRATUM.
In the footnote, page 84, the paragraphs quoted are wrongly attributed
to Mr. C. T. Gardner. They are by an unknown writer in a Shanghai
journal.
THE FOLK-LORE OF CHINA.
I.—INTRODUCTORY.
The attention which has of late been attracted to the study of European
and Asiatic folk-lore happily renders unnecessary any apology for an
effort to bring to the knowledge of English readers the vast, and as
yet almost unworked, field of which it is the design of these pages to
treat. The numerous and in many cases able works recently published
have not only placed at the disposal of students a vast mass of facts
bearing on the science, but have so fully vindicated its claims to the
consideration of the ethnologist and philologist, that any introductory
essay in the same direction is unnecessary. The labours of Professor
Max Müller, the Brothers Grimm, Baring Gould, Kuhn, Kelly, Thorpe,
Dasent, Wilson, Ralston, and Spence Hardy, of Muir, Bleeke, and others,
have satisfactorily paved the way for successors in the field. The
widespread traditions of the Aryan family, down to the homely
superstitions of our own peasantry, the myths of Oceanica and the
popular tales of Scandinavia, have alike received illustration, and
often erudite comment from capable pens. In endeavouring to do for the
folk-lore of China what has been so well done for that of other
countries I shall in one respect enjoy an exceptional advantage. No
serious attempt has yet been made to prove its kinship with the
familiar beliefs of the Aryan races; and the following pages may
therefore claim, on the score of novelty alone, an attention which
might otherwise be denied them.
That a population so enormous as that which owns the nominal sway of
the Dragon Throne—variously estimated at from 250,000,000 to
400,000,000—should present a field of most interesting enquiry, is less
strange than that so few enquirers should as yet have essayed to
explore it. The extreme difficulties of the language and the fact that
few who study it for even conversational purposes do so except for a
specific end, and to fulfil some defined duty, have doubtless mainly
contributed to this state of affairs. Whatever the cause, however, the
fact remains that the folk-lore of the oldest and most populous nation
of the globe, rich in the traditions of a period to which modern
history is but a thing of yesterday, has been hitherto almost ignored
by even the most successful students of Chinese. Those least acquainted
with the people and their customs need not be assured that in China, as
in most other parts of the world, there are certain subjects regarding
which quaint and curious superstitions, beliefs and practices obtain
amongst the populace. Unlike the civilized nations of Europe and
America, however, China numbers amongst believers in the truth of these
superstitions a vast public of some pretensions to education—such as it
is—and of social position in the eyes of their countrymen. The doings
of every Chinaman, from Emperor to coolie, are affected and guided by
astrological portents, divinations, etc., in which even the more highly
educated, who affect to despise them, place a practical trust. The
half-cynical disbelief of the mandarin and literate, becomes firm
conviction in the peasant; and China presents the now-a-days singular
spectacle of an entire nation, numbering over three hundred millions of
souls, whose everyday life is framed to meet the exigencies of a
puerile system of superstition.
It must not, however, be supposed that these superstitious beliefs
differ to any material extent from those current amongst humanity
elsewhere. The variations will be found to lie rather in detail than in
principle; and just as white replaces black for the mourning colour,
but leaves untouched the custom of adopting a special costume as a sign
of grief, so it will be found that a variation or even apparent
contradiction in the beliefs we are about to deal with are in like
manner the outcome of motives common to the inhabitants of almost all
countries alike. Thus, the Scottish custom of opening the windows of
the room in which a person has died, to give the soul free egress, is,
in some parts of China, paralleled by the practice of making a hole in
the roof. The Lancashire superstition as to the “first foot” on New
Year’s Day finds its Chinese counterpart in the dislike expressed to
meeting a woman or a Buddhist priest under such conditions. I forbear
to here enlarge upon such agreements in superstition, as they will be
found treated of at length in the following pages. The one grand
distinction between Chinese and European folk-lore lies, as above
intimated, in the different powers they exert over the respective
communities. In the one case it is either a matter only of amused
indifference or of interested research to all but the lowest classes of
the population. In the other it represents an all-pervading system of
regulations believed in or complied with by high and low alike. We must
not, however, forget at how very recent a date we, who now pride
ourselves on our civilization and enlightenment, were emancipated from
the thraldom of similar and equally oppressive beliefs. To turn for a
moment to the page of western history, we find that the belief in
omens, divinations, &c., has, ever since the earliest times, influenced
communities beside whom we incline, with somewhat undue arrogance, to
term the Chinese “barbarous.” St. Chrysostom and many of the early
fathers inveighed against popular superstitions in no measured way. In
the eighth century we find a Council of Church dignitaries, Pope
Gregory III., Charlemagne and his successors, and the abbots and
bishops of Scotland and France, vehemently denouncing beliefs similar
in all respects to those in vogue in China. The great Martin Luther
himself believed in superstitions as gross as any recorded. [1] We turn
with abhorrence from the story of Matthew Hopkins, the witch-finder,
and cannot forget that, almost within the memory of our own great
grandfathers, the Puritans of the New World outvied in their
superstitious bigotry the worst absurdities recorded in Chinese annals.
It is well to recall these matters to mind, because the enlightenment
of the present day is apt to sneer too unreservedly at the blind
gropings after truth of less favoured races. The popular folk-lore of
Norway, Germany and Brittany presents features quite as quaint as those
we shall come across in dealing with their Asiatic congeners.
Nor, when we leave the domain of what we may term domestic
folk-lore—superstitions as to days and seasons, charms, omens, lucky
numbers, &c.,—and ascend to that of myths and legends, is the
parallelism between Chinese and Aryan belief less striking and
interesting. We miss of course all that can be traced to Christianity;
but the powers of nature have appealed as strongly to the wonder and
dread of the sons of Han as they did to the races of whom we ourselves
are the successors and heirs. “Language,” says a recent writer, “in its
immature phases, has created, without any conscious exercise of
imagination, most of the old-world, pathetic legends, which, different
garbs notwithstanding, meet us like familiar friends in the early
records of nations so widely divergent that it would be hard to
discover any other trace of kinship.” I will not here pause to ask how
fully this applies to Chinese. The myth-making faculty is in any case
the common heritage of mankind; and narrow as are the limits within
which it has been exercised by the Chinese, and grotesque as are the
forms assumed by its productions, they evidence the same yearning to
idealise the mysterious powers of the universe, the same poetic
faculty, if more rudely expressed, as has characterized mankind since
the Chaldean astrologers kept their lonely vigils, and found in the
star-studded heavens materials for the mythic beliefs of the
long-forgotten past.
In view then of the interesting and almost limitless field of research
presented by the superstitious beliefs of nearly a third of the human
race, it is, as I have said, more than remarkable that no one has yet
essayed the task of compiling some record of their peculiarities.
Scattered allusions to them undoubtedly pervade a large number of
recent contributions to our better knowledge of China, while certain
subjects have been dealt with more at length—in some cases with much
ability. Mr. T. Watters has struck a rich vein of curious information
in his articles on Chinese notions respecting Pigeons, Doves, and
Foxes; while Mr. Stent, in his paper on Chinese Legends, has given some
interesting examples of the romances or tales which are current among
the Chinese. As Mr. Stent says, almost every place in China has some
legend attached to it, the whole constituting a mass of material for
collectors of folk-lore, not only interesting from its own quaintness,
but useful for comparison with the legends of other nations. [2] Mr.
Kingsmill’s discussion of the mythical origin of the Chow Dynasty, Dr.
Eitel’s account of the curious Buddhist fable which includes the
Hwang-ho among the sacred rivers flowing from the Himalayan Lake, and
Mr. Mayers’s sketch of the rise and growth of the cult of the god of
Literature in China, all contain curious and suggestive matter on this
head. They deal however only with portions of the subject.
A writer in the year 1798 remarked that “the study of popular
antiquities (of which folk-lore is an important branch) though the
materials of it lie so widely diffused, and indeed seem to obtrude
themselves upon every one’s attention, does not appear to have engaged
so much the notice of enquirers into human life and manners as might
have been expected.” But the last seventy years have witnessed an
activity in this direction which would allow of the formation of a
small library of works dealing only with such matters. It is time that
China were added to the list of countries whose folk-lore has been
recorded for comparative purposes. And any shortcomings of execution on
the part of the present writer will, it is hoped, be condoned on the
score of its being the first attempt to deal systematically with the
vast array of material at disposal.
Any arrangement of subjects is of course arbitrary; but I shall
endeavour to follow what seems to me the most natural order of
sequence; and I must here be pardoned for devoting a short space to
explaining what I conceive that order to be. The unstudied arrangement
of many able works on European folk-lore, although perhaps adding
additional charm to their perusal on the part of the general reader,
somewhat militates against their use for handy reference by those who
care to study them for the sake of comparison. It is therefore much to
be desired that some general system could be agreed upon by those who
care to make this entertaining subject a matter of serious research.
With some diffidence I adopt an arrangement which deals in the first
instance with superstitions personal to the individual, such as those
relating to birth, marriage and death—superstitions which we find
equally disseminated amongst the most degraded and the most civilized
peoples of the earth. To these succeed the beliefs accorded to the good
or evil luck attaching to days or seasons. Next to them come the
credence placed in lucky numbers, portents, auguries and dreams,
succeeded by the popular beliefs in charms, spells and divinations.
These are followed by accounts of popular superstitions—such as those
relating to drowned men, the last piece of edible left upon a plate,
the virtues of human blood, &c. Entering the domain of the more
technically supernatural, but still dealing with beliefs immediately
affecting the happiness or misery of mankind, we come to witchcraft and
demonology,—sprites, elves and fairies, such as those who, to quote a
native composition, “come in clouds and go in mist;” who make use of
“grass that when cut makes horses, or beans that when scattered become
fighting men.” [3] Ghosts and apparitions are naturally connected with
the foregoing. The next section refers to dragons, serpents, fabulous
animals, and monsters, which play as important a part in the popular
legends of China as in those of Christendom. Long before our patron
saint St. George slew the monster so long depicted on the now extinct
five-shilling piece, a doughty Chinese champion (a lady, by the way)
had performed a similar feat, and had been also embalmed in popular
memory; while the snake, regarded with not less awe as an incarnation
of the supernatural in China than in Europe, figures conspicuously in
her legendary lore. Natural phenomena, such as typhoons, earthquakes,
floods, &c., which I next deal with, have naturally, here as elsewhere,
been attributed to supernatural influence from time immemorial. Legends
form the next division of our subject, commencing with those of
locality; for the hills and vales of Cathay have their haunted spots,
and its cities too have their haunted houses. Legends of Locality and
Household Tales conclude this branch of the subject, a selection of the
best known, and those of an essentially popular nature, being alone
given. Fables and Proverbial Lore complete the series; but the latter
has been too fully dealt with in separate works and essays to render
more than passing reference to its characteristics necessary.
Briefly tabulated, then, the Chapters will be arranged in the following
order:—
A—Superstitions as to personal fortune.
Birth, Marriage, Death.
Days and Seasons.
Portents, Auguries, Dreams, Lucky Numbers.
Charms, Spells, Amulets and Divinations.
B—Superstitions as to various subjects.
C—Superstitions involving the interference of supernatural powers.
Ghosts, Apparitions and Supernatural Beings.
Witchcraft and Demonology.
Elves, Fairies and Brownies.
Serpents, Dragons, Fabulous Animals and Monsters.
Superstitions regarding the Powers of Nature.
D—Legendary Folk-lore.
Legends of Locality, Household Tales, &c.
E—Fables and Proverbial Folk-lore.
That it is difficult in all cases to draw the precise line in
classification, those who have paid any attention to the subject will
readily understand; and the most that can be done is to adopt some
system which, however faulty, is handy for reference.
The word “Folk-lore” can be applied to many of the domestic traditions
of China only as a matter of literary convenience. The word which,
according to Mr. Kelly, was invented (or rather first used in its
generic sense) by the late editor of Notes and Queries, [4] is indeed
the only one in the language which satisfactorily expresses the subject
of which it treats, and has met with general acceptance. But there is
this difference between most of the folk-lore of the Aryan races and
that of China. In the former case it chiefly relates to legends and
superstitions handed down from generation to generation by word of
mouth; in the latter it necessarily includes much that is to be found
in print at every native bookstall. Old Moore’s and Zadkiel’s Almanacks
represent this sort of literature in England, but do not of course
contain a tithe of what is current amongst the people. In China such
literature flourishes like a rank weed, to the partial destruction of
aught else more useful and ennobling. In addition to these native
“authorities,” a vast amount of material relating to the subject is to
be found in the columns of the foreign and native newspapers. The aid
thus afforded has been fully availed of in the following chapters,
though it must not of course be supposed that there does not also exist
a large amount of veritable lore, a knowledge of which has been
perpetuated in the ordinary conversational way. The cheapness of the
press has indeed proved in China a powerful help in preserving much
that might otherwise have died out. The precise form of any
superstition can therefore be frequently traced, thanks to this
conservative element, and differing versions of popular myths are
easily referred to their true origins.
It does not appear that the great teachers of China have done much,
except in an indirect way, to encourage popular superstitions. But
faint references—and those chiefly to ceremonial matters—are to be
found in the classics, nor does popular belief credit Confucius,
Mencius, Lao-tzü, and others with more than inferential approval of the
superstitions current in their own day. The principle of filial
reverence for age has probably contributed more than anything else to
imbue the minds of the people with a respect for anything, from a
porcelain bowl to an aphorism or proverb, which savours of antiquity;
and folk-lore shares with ethics the benefits of the national bias. As
regards details, the folk-lore of China is much the same as that of
Europe, with here and there some unexpected contradictions. Many of
these superstitions are, and of course must be, equally childish,
whether finding their home in a Cornish hamlet or a Chinese town; but
it is none the less interesting to find that they often exist in almost
identical shape in places so far asunder. To the mind of the present
writer they convey far deeper assurances of a common origin between
differing races than the often untrustworthy resemblances of isolated
words in their respective tongues.
It will probably be found that the theory which refers the greater
portion of the folk-lore of Europe to the Oriental cradle of the Aryan
races, from whence it was disseminated by their migrations westward, is
equally applicable to the folk-lore of China. The first-named
supposition has been ably supported by Kelly and his brother workers,
and if, as is believed, equally strong grounds can be shewn for
adopting the second, a contribution of some importance to ethnology,
and indirectly to philology, will have been made. And it is difficult,
when the domestic superstitions of Scotland or the tales of New England
witchcraft, the drear legends of Iceland or the myths of Thuringia are
found to be almost identical with beliefs in little-known China,—when
the almond-eyed mother of Kwangtung is found repeating to her offspring
the mystic nonsense uttered by her Hindoo or Turkish sister, as she
too, under other skies, listens to the prattle of childish tongues—it
is, I say, difficult to deny that a strong case has been made out for a
common fount whence the folk-lore of at least two continents has flowed
Eastward and Westward in ever-accumulating streams. I need not here
refer to such essentially related peoples as the Japanese, Tibetans,
Mongolians, &c., whose superstitions are so analogous to those of the
Chinese as to be fairly classed under the same head. Such information
as has been available respecting them, will be found collated in its
proper place.
I have slightly touched in a preceding paragraph upon the unusually
widespread belief accorded in China to signs and omens, legends,
charms, &c., and a passing remark as to the extent to which this belief
obtains may not be out of place. The Court of China, like courts
elsewhere, sets the fashion in this as in other matters, and both the
marriage of the late Sovereign and the recent accession of the new
infant Emperor has afforded an apt illustration of how thoroughly
superstition is interwoven with the political system of the country.
Thus, at the marriage of Tung-chi with Ah-lu-te, the young lady
received amongst the bridal gifts ten pieces of green and white jade
called ju-i [5]—“Heart’s delight.” They were of mystic import, being
supposed to possess the power of conferring joy and happiness on their
owner. [6] The lucky days for the various ceremonies were fixed by the
court astrologers, and nothing was done without reference to their
predictions. Such phrases as “so and so being a lucky day, His Imperial
Majesty will proceed &c.,” are of constant occurrence in the court
circulars. But the burdens laid upon the august inhabitants of the
“Forbidden City” are but light compared to those borne by the rest of
the people. Whether it be to build a house or assume office, to marry a
wife or open a school, to set out on a journey or complete a bargain,
nothing can be done by any Chinese without reference to Geomancy. Nor
are more homely details less under the control of superstitious belief.
Every act connected with birth, marriage or death, the bringing up of
children and the enterprises of manhood, are alike referred to some
detail of this curiously all-pervading system. The superstitions indeed
exist amongst ourselves, those really affected by them being only the
most ignorant of the population. But in China all are, or assume to be,
firm believers in the occult influences of the charm or incantation
which custom decrees shall be used. The veriest “Lancashire witch” was
no more a slave to her own belief in witchcraft than are average
Chinese to their faith in the virtues of divination. Folk-lore
therefore assumes in China a place almost unknown to it elsewhere, and
no student of the manners and customs of its people can overlook its
influence on their every-day life.
II.—BIRTH, MARRIAGE AND DEATH.
In China, as throughout the western world, curious superstitions attach
to human life in all its various stages. The hour and day of an
infant’s birth are as much a matter of solicitude to the Chinese female
as to the “wise woman” of our own North-country hamlets. [7] The
queer-looking almanacks to be found amongst the stock of every native
bookshop or stall, invariably contain a series of figures representing
a fanciful deity, whose title may be rendered as that of the Emperor
“Four Quarters” or “All the Year Round,” each figure having one of the
horary characters placed on some portion of its person. Thus, during
the spring quarter the sign for from 11 to to 1 o’clock a.m. appears on
the forehead; that for from 9 to 11 o’clock on the shoulder; that for
from 1 to 3 o’clock upon the stomach; etc. (See illustration). When a
child is born these diagrams are consulted, and according as the hour
mark occurs upon the forehead, shoulders, hands, legs or other portion
of the body, so they augur the future destiny of the child. Thus title
and degree will be the lot of him who is born at noon. The child who
makes his appearance between 9 and 11 o’clock will have, in the
familiar words of the gypsy, “a hard lot at first, but finally great
riches.” Toil and sorrow, however, will be the portion of the unlucky
baby who first sees the light between 3 and 5 a.m., or p.m., and so on.
[8]
The following verses have been kindly placed at my disposal by a
friend, who has taken the trouble to put into rhyme some of the
doggerel that accompanies the diagrams above referred to:—
THE RHYME OF THE EMPEROR “ALL-THE-YEAR-ROUND.”
In birth, the Emperor’s forehead shows
A fate that never sorrow knows,
Plebeians that rich and honoured be
And rise to title and degree,
The rank they seek is still bestowed;
Nobles that follow a worthy lord
And women, chaste and well-beloved,
Wed and breed scholars true and proved.
The Emperor’s hands in birth portend
The gains that handicraft attend
Abroad, a welcome rich and free,
As home, a well-found family;
One year shall yield a plenteous store,
Next year shall make that plenty more,
Wealth shall flow in on every side,
Wealth with old age shall still abide.
The Emperor’s shoulders mean, I trow,
An heir to goodly gifts that grow
To more and more as years draw on,
Grandsons and sons to honour come,
Rank comes too when the time is fit,
Old age brings fields and farms with it;
If kith and kin at first were cold
“Bitter, then sweet,” is truth of old.
When on the belly falls the sign,
Shalt have enough, as I divine,
Of clothes and food, of acts or arms,
Of music and the pageant’s charms;
Old age with peace and joy shall crown
Mid-age’s office and renown,
And a delightsome halo spread,
Increasing, round thy honoured head.
If on the loins the sign be found,
Then rank with wealth and years is crowned,
With honour when life’s prime is told
And eld y-blessed with yellow gold,
Yea, though arisen from low degree
His fate is true nobility;
His scions, an illustrious band
Who make a name within the land.
But on the leg—the meaning there
Is toil and sorrow, want and care,
Nor clothes nor food enough shall be,
May all thy kin be kind to thee!
Who day by day must drudge and toil
Nor be content for all thy coil.
Yet, when thy bitter youth is past,
Old age shall bring thee bliss at last.
The Emperor’s foot means this—at last
Peace comes from vigil and from fast,
A life-time of tranquillity!
Have nought to do with rent or fee;
Widowed—renew not married life;
Widower—seek no second wife;
Thy path a wilderness unblest,
Flee to a cell and be at rest!
The practices resorted to previous to the birth of children, either to
secure that blessing or to ascertain the sex of the expected infant,
form in themselves a curious chapter. An idea that adopting a girl
belonging to another family will increase a woman’s own likelihood of
having children herself, is based upon the belief that each living
woman is in the unseen world represented by a tree; and that, just as
grafting succeeds with trees, so adoption (which represents the same
process in family life) may succeed as regards children. Another
superstition is that each woman is represented in the other world by a
vase containing a flower. A sorceress is hired to proceed thither and
“change the earth.” A third way of securing children is to obtain from
the temple of the Goddess of Children a shoe which has been worn by
her. This is taken home and, being placed beside the image or tablet of
the goddess, receives equal worship; and, should the desired object be
attained, a pair of shoes exactly resembling the one obtained must be
returned to the temple. Sometimes several are taken from an equal
number of temples, and in that case the goddess from whom the last shoe
was received is rewarded with most offerings. A flower is in other
cases taken from one of the temple vases in place of a shoe, and is
supposed to be nearly as efficacious.
Shortly before the birth of the child in Fuhkien a ceremony is
performed by a priest, with the intention of frightening away the
demons who are supposed to haunt the mother for the purpose of
destroying her life in childbirth. “The priest recites the classics
proper to the occasion. Ten or twenty pieces of a kind of grass cut up
about an inch long, and several likenesses of the crab cut out of
common paper, are put in a censer and burned. Or sometimes several live
crabs, after being used in the ceremony are taken and turned into the
street—by way of frightening or propitiating the spirits. The reason
why crabs are used is that the name of one of these demons sounds like
that of crab, in the local dialect.” [9]
The formula for ascertaining the sex of a coming child is not very far
removed from the children’s amusement of prophesying by buttons,
commencing “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, &c.” The mother adds to
the number of her age in years that of the month, day and hour she was
born: thus if twenty years old and she was born in the sixth hour of
the third day of the second month, she would have a total of
thirty-one. She then takes a series of pictures of the thirty-six
assistants of the Goddess of Children, sold for fortune-telling
purposes, and according to the sex of the child in the arms of the
thirty-first concludes that her own child will be a boy or a girl. If
the number of her age, &c., exceed thirty-six, she commences to count
the first picture from number thirty-seven. Childless women also resort
to a similar process to ascertain whether they will or will not have
children. Those curious to ascertain the religious ceremonies made use
of prior to birth may be referred to Mr. Doolittle’s work on Chinese
Social Life.
It may be noted, in passing, that the Chinese make but little provision
whatever for the birth of female children, which are deemed beneath the
notice of augury or portent. At the birth of a child of either sex,
however, amongst the boating population, a piece of red coloured cloth
is hung from the awning of the sampan in which the birth has taken
place. [10]
A superstition obtains in the southern provinces that if three children
appear at a birth one of them will eventually become a noted rebel, and
it hence becomes a question of “Which is Papa going to keep?” if the
luckless father would avoid that direst of Chinese curses, a thoroughly
bad son. To decide the question a “wise man” is sent for, by whose
directions the three infants are taken into a perfectly dark room. The
wise man then takes three pieces of string, each of a different colour,
such as white, red and black, and entering the room ties one of these
pieces of string round a wrist of each baby. The one that is found when
brought out into the light to have the red string on its wrist is
drowned like a puppy. [11] Presuming however that the little one has
not had such ill-luck as to be the odd one of three, it still undergoes
within an hour or two of birth the ceremony of “binding the wrists.” A
cash or charm is tied to this part of the arm by means of red cords,
which are not untied for some ten or twelve days. Others attach
miniature toys, such as a mallet, drum, bell, &c., the red cords being
about two feet long altogether, with one foot of loose string between
them. Sometimes, however, the cord or tape alone is used, being
replaced when dirty, but worn altogether for several months or even a
year. [12] This of course has reference to the dread lest evil spirits
should harm the child, and the impelling motive finds expression in
other countries in a not quite dissimilar way. Thus the Danish women
place amulets (garlic, salt, bread and steel) over the cradle of a
new-born infant before depositing it therein; [13] while a superstition
formerly obtained both in England and the Highlands that a child should
not be left alone until it was christened lest it should be stolen or
changed by fairies. [14] A practice common amongst nurses is to pass a
knife edge downward between the feet of a child just as it commences to
run alone. This is called “cutting the cord of his feet,” and is
supposed to facilitate his learning to walk. [15]
There is a curious little piece of folk-lore, common alike to the
Middle Kingdom and our own fatherland, which I lighted upon by
accident. A wide-spread superstition exists at home against rocking a
“toom,” or empty cradle. [16] Now, strangely enough, Chinese nurses in
the South of China have precisely the same belief. A little four-year
old girl, who is a very intimate acquaintance of mine, not long ago
began rocking the cradle in which her newly-born sister was usually
laid to sleep. An amah who saw her, rushed at the child, exclaiming
“You no makee rock so fashion! That baby b’long die, s’posie rock,” As
it happened the infant did die, as was fully expected by the medical
attendant: but of course the amah found in the anticipated fact a
verification of her prediction, and farther enquiry has satisfied me
that the superstition is identical with and quite as widespread as our
own. The resemblance of belief here certainly seems something more than
accidental.
The ceremonies observed shortly after the birth of a child are curious.
A package of seed, rush (such as is used for candle wicks), cat’s and
dog’s hair, onions or garlic, a pair of chopsticks, and some charcoal,
is in Fuhkien tied up with red string in a piece of red paper and
suspended on the outside of the door where the mother is lying. [17] In
the extreme South some of these articles are omitted. “A pair of the
trousers of the child’s father are put on the frame of the bedstead in
such a way that the waist shall hang downward or be lower than the
legs. On the trousers is stuck a piece of red paper, having four words
written upon it intimating that all unfavourable influences are to go
into the trousers instead of afflicting the babe. The hair on the
package outside the bedroom door is to keep the noises which may be
made for eleven days by the dogs and cats in the vicinity from
frightening the babe. The coal is to aid in making it hardy and
vigorous. The onions are to cause it to be quick-witted and
intelligent. The pith (rush) is explained as contributing to make it
fortunate or successful in life.” [18] On the fourteenth day the parcel
and trousers respectively are taken away. Odd as the custom above
referred to may seem, it is exactly parallelled by those prevailing in
both Germany and Scotland. In the former country it is usual to lay in
the cradle a package of snapdragon, blue marjoram, black cumin, a right
shirt sleeve and a left stocking; while, on the authority of Mr.
Henderson, it may be noted that in Scotland “the little one’s safeguard
is held to lie in the juxtaposition of some article of dress belonging
to its father.” [19] Of the hair of cats or dogs I shall have more to
say in a future chapter. But I may remark that a superstition as to the
curative and evil-warding power of hair exists at this day in both
Wales and Gloucester. [20]
There is a custom called “Worshipping the Measures” frequently
performed by Chinese during the eighth month if they have sickly
children. The “measures” are two constellations in the Northern and
Southern hemispheres respectively. They are generally identified as the
four stars α, β, γ, δ, in the dipper (Ursa Major) and ζ, λ, μ, σ, and τ
in Sagittarius. For the purpose under notice they are represented as
two old men, the “Northern Measure” being the god of longevity, who
keeps the book in which is recorded the date of each person’s death,
while the “South Measure” is the god of emoluments. Longevity and
riches are thus to be secured by worshipping them. The legend in which
this custom is based is thus given: [21]—“A long while ago a certain
lad on going into the street one day met an old man who proved to be a
celebrated fortune-teller named Kwan-lo. He addressed the lad saying:
‘You are a fine boy. What a pity that your life is to be so short.’ The
lad at once asked him how long it was to be, and he told him that he
was to die at the age of nineteen. This frightened the lad, who was
already near that age, and he went home crying and told his mother what
he had heard. She in turn was very sad also, but told the lad to go and
enquire further of the fortune-teller. He did so and was instructed to
take a plate of preserved venison and a bottle of wine and carry them
to the top of a certain mountain where he would find two old men
playing chess. He was told to place the venison and the wine down by
them without saying a word, and then wait patiently till they had
finished the game, when he might advance and make known his requests.
The lad proceeded to do as he was instructed, and was surprised to find
two men engaged in a game of chess. After he had silently placed the
food and drink by them they kept on playing until they had finished the
game without noticing the lad. They then seemed hungry and began to eat
of the provisions they saw by their side. After they had done eating
and drinking the lad advanced and told his story, weeping while
talking, and besought them to save him from dying at so early an age.
They heard the lad and then took out their records, and found on
examination that his life was indeed nearly finished. They however took
a pen and interpolated before the nineteen the Chinese figure for nine,
thus making the record read ninety-nine. They then ordered the boy to
return home and tell the old man he met in the street that he must not
do in like manner again; that the time appointed by heaven was not to
be divulged to mortals. The lad thanked the old gentlemen, who were no
other than the ‘North Measure’ and ‘South Measure,’ went home and
narrated what had occurred.”
The superstitions regarding marriage are as plentiful in China as we
should expect to find them amongst a people in which its ceremonies are
held in such extreme honour. Of the outward symbols of the married
state there is, as we all know, a great importance attaching to the
wedding ring. Now it is very certain that the Chinese did not take the
idea of wearing wedding rings from us. Yet we find that in certain
parts of China, and in Java, the custom of sending the “measure of the
finger-ring” previous to marriage is well known. Turning to Chinese
annals we find the preparing of a “united-hearts’ finger-ring”
mentioned amongst the preliminary ceremonies to marriage. More than
that, just as the purchase of the ring is considered by us as having
morally bound the intended bridegroom, so in parts of China it affixes
legal responsibility upon him; a failure to carry out the marriage then
subjecting him to the penalties of breach of promise of marriage. [22]
Bearing in mind the symbolic nature of a ring in the western world—that
of something without end—it is interesting to find a value attached to
it out here similar to that we ourselves endow it with at home. In
Durham, for instance, the breaking of the wedding ring forbodes death,
and its loss, the loss also of the husband’s affection. Not less
interesting is it to find that, while our north-country good-wives
throw a plateful of shortcake over a newly-made bride as she returns to
her future home, [23] the Chinese go through the same ceremony with
rice, which is a sign of abundance. [24] As regards the lucky day for
marrying, the Chinese have numerous portents. The first, sixth, and
tenth of the month are laid down in the Imperial almanacks [25] as the
most suitable, but marriages of course take place on almost all days
except those specially noted as “uncanny.”
The ceremonies of betrothal are of course deeply interwoven with
superstitious observances. When children are thus engaged, a pair of
fowls, a pair of ducks or geese, and a few pounds of vermicelli, are
sent by the bride’s to the bridegroom’s family, who retain the male
birds and return the hens. Widows who re-engage themselves are
prohibited from wearing gaudy—that is, red or other
bright-coloured—skirts, and must confine themselves to black, white or
blue. A curious superstition also hinges, in the case of betrothals put
an end to by the death of the intended bride, on shoes. The bridegroom
goes to the house of mourning and asks for the last pair which she wore
previous to death. These he takes home and burns incense to for a space
of two years, believing that her spirit will be present, enticed
thither by the shoes. In thus doing he acknowledges her as his
(intended) wife. As most readers will know, betrothals are managed by
go-betweens, who settle the match on behalf of the parents without
consulting the principals. The first thing to be examined by the agent
is the horoscope of the girl in order to compare it with that of the
future husband, and, if all preliminaries are happily arranged, certain
articles and presents are interchanged which are mostly intended to
have a symbolical meaning. If any unlucky accident happens during the
three days allotted for final consideration, the negociation is broken
off. If all be right, there are provided, in addition to the
betrothment cards, four large needles and two red silk threads, and two
of the former threaded with one of the threads are stuck into each
card. The red thread is supposed to represent that with which the feet
of all mortals are in the spirit-world tied to those who are fated to
be husband and wife—in other words, it represents unalterable fate. A
similar thread is used to tie together the cups out of which the bride
and bridegroom drink. I am unable in the authorities at my command
(some twenty works on the Folk-lore of various countries) to trace any
resemblance to this custom elsewhere.
A curious ceremony is frequently observed shortly before a marriage
takes place. The wedding garments of the bride, and in some cases those
of the bridegroom, are placed in succession in a sort of bamboo sieve
which is then passed over a fire kindled in a brazier. In Fuhkien it is
customary while this operation is being performed to repeat sentences
like the following: “A thousand eyes, ten thousand eyes we sift out;
gold and silver, wealth and precious things we sift in.” [26] The
ceremony is supposed to have a purifying effect, evil influences being
thereby warded off. No female must, however, touch the bride’s clothes
after undergoing this process until she is married—especially a
pregnant woman or one in mourning. Another superstitious custom
consists in placing five cash of the reigns of five different emperors
under the bed mat, and hanging up five bundles of boiled rice (each
bundle consisting of five smaller ones) tied with red string to the
curtain frame.
Amongst the beliefs which, so far as I can ascertain, are peculiar to
the Chinese, is one which relates to the first interview of a bride and
bridegroom. On such occasions the bride’s assistants often request the
bridegroom to rub the feet of his future spouse under the belief that
his compliance will prevent her feet from aching in future. [27]
The ceremonies which take place after the first meeting of the bride
and bridegroom recall in a minor degree certain superstitions which
obtain elsewhere than in China. Thus the bride’s face is hidden by a
long white veil not unlike that worn by Egyptian women when they
venture abroad. This points to a motive similar to that inducing
amongst the old Anglo-Saxons the use of the “care cloth,” made of white
linen, which was held over the pair as the nuptial benediction was
pronounced, to hide the blushes of the bride. If the bride was a widow,
this was dispensed with, and similarly in the rare event of a Chinese
widow re-marrying she dispenses with a veil. The bride and bridegroom
after their first interview go through an act of worship known as
“worshipping Heaven and Earth.” A table is set out, and on it are
placed some lighted candles, a lighted censer, and the following
articles: two miniature white cocks made of sugar, five kinds of dried
fruit, a bundle of chopsticks, a foot measure, a mirror, a pair of
shears and a case containing money scales. [28] The fruits are
frequently placed on a platter of willow wood, which, as every one
knows, is supposed to possess supernatural properties in places other
than China. The precise signification of the shears is not very clear
to the Chinese themselves, but they regard them as typifying industry.
It is odd, however, to find that knives known as “bride knives” formed
part of the wedding outfit of our great-great-grandmothers. Mirrors,
says Brand, [29] “were formerly used by magicians in their
superstitions and diabolical operations, and there was an ancient kind
of divination by the looking glass.” As regards the white cock, I shall
have more to say about this bird under the heading of superstitions
connected with deaths. When its images made of sugar are used as above
described, an attendant breaks off a portion of each and gives them to
the newly-married pair to eat. All the articles displayed are intended
to be omens of prosperity and future harmony. Upon the same table as
these are shewn on, are placed two oddly-shaped goblets, which are
filled with a mixture of wine and honey, of which both bride and
bridegroom partake. Honey plays a similar part at Sicilian marriages, a
spoonful of the pleasant, but sticky, liquid being administered to each
of the contracting parties by two of the attendants directly the
marriage ceremony has been performed.
The candles placed upon the offering table are speedily transferred to
the bride’s chamber, where, however, they are shortly replaced by
others intended to continue burning during the night. I have not been
able to trace any analogous custom at Western weddings, but the idea
underlying the use of candles in this respect by the Chinese is as old
as the oldest superstition. It is thought to be extremely unlucky if
one or both of these bridal candles be accidentally extinguished, as it
would denote the speedy death of one or both of the parties. Nor should
the wax and tallow of which these candles are made melt or trickle down
the sides, the tricklings being an emblem of tears, and signifying
either that the husband and wife will not agree together, or that they
will have much sorrow. If both candles burn about the same time, it
foreshadows the death of the bride and bridegroom at an advanced age
within a short period of each other. If one burns much longer than the
other, it means that either the wife or the husband will long survive
the other. Now all this superstitious respect for flame seems to refer
to a Chinese version of the Promethean Legend. It does not indeed say
that fire was brought from heaven to animate man, but it makes fire
typical of man’s vital force, and is doubtless a dim fragment of an
older legend identical with that of Prometheus. “Candle omens” of a
different sort are familiar in Northern England, and amongst the Greeks
the brilliancy or dulness of a candle flame was an omen of good or bad
fortune. In like manner the lamps and candles used in the above
ceremony, and still more directly the large lighted lanterns carried in
front of all Chinese bridal processions, find a parallel in the old
Roman custom of carrying torches before a bride. The gypsies of
Calabria observe a similar custom, as do also, I believe, the Japanese;
and there is some ground for believing that it was formerly a custom in
England. [30]
Before leaving the subject of marriage I may note that the number
three, usually considered lucky, is expressly avoided in many matters
of its ceremonial. At the ceremony of worshipping ancestral tablets and
relatives, the latter are invited to bow in return, four times instead
of three, as the latter, “being an odd number, is regarded as
inauspicious.” On the other hand, the bride goes to visit her parents
three days after marriage, and the bridegroom, who follows her to the
house of his father-in-law, is regaled with three cups of tea and three
pipes of tobacco. The sedan, by the way, in which the bride is borne on
such visits has painted on it as a charm the image of a Taoist priest
who, according to the legend, succeeded by his magical powers in
counteracting the powers of the evil spirits who lie in wait on such
occasions to harass and make ill the bride.
The use of bride-cake at weddings appears to be, in some form or other,
both of remote antiquity and common to nearly every nation. “The
ceremony used at the solemnization of a marriage was called
confarreation in token of a most firm conjunction between the man and
wife with a cake of wheat or barley.” It was and is customary in
Yorkshire to cut the bride-cake into little square pieces and then
throw them over the bride and bridegroom’s head. In China a quilt is
held in front of the bride’s sedan by its corners, and four bread cakes
sent from the bridegroom’s family for the purpose are tossed up in the
air in succession and caught in the quilt. In neither case is the omen
involved in this proceeding very clear, unless it be taken as an
offering to the deities who preside over marriages, and in our own case
retained as a custom which has lost its primary significance.
The custom of preventing the bride’s feet from touching the threshold
of the bridegroom’s house obtains in China as in Europe. Usually the
entrance is covered with red cloth for this purpose. “In some parts of
the country she is lifted out of the sedan, over a pan of charcoal
placed in the court and carried to her chamber.” [31] Amongst the
ancient Romans, “fire and water being placed on the threshold, the
bride touched both; but starting back from the door she refused to
enter, till she at length passed it, being careful to step over it
without touching it.” [32] (A wedding usage in Yorkshire, by the way,
is to pour a kettle full of boiling water over the door-step just after
the bride has left her old home. Without their having any apparent
connection the coincidence of usages is curious.) The ancient
superstition mentioned in Popular Antiquities was that the bride was
not to step over the threshold on entering the bridegroom’s house, but
was to be lifted over by her nearest relations. [33]
One of the most singular coincidences of Chinese with Western
intention, is connected with shoes. It is customary at a marriage in
South China for the bride to present her husband with a pair of shoes,
by way of signifying that for the future she places herself under his
control. These are carefully preserved in the family and are never
given away, like other worn-out articles, it being deemed, that to part
with them portends an early separation between husband and wife. Now,
in a work published in 1640, mention is made of an ancient custom,
“when at any time a couple were married, the sole of the bridegroom’s
shoe was to be laid on the bride’s head, implying with what subjection
she should serve her husband.” A writer in an old number of the London
Notes and Queries (quoted by Mr. Henderson) remarks:—The throwing shoes
after the Bride and Bridegroom ... is usually said to be “for luck,”
but is rather a symbol of renunciation of all right in the bride by her
father or guardian, and the transference of it to her husband. In the
Story of Ruth you will recollect that her kinsman plucked off his shoe,
as a sign of his renunciation of his claim to marry her. “Over Edom
have I cast out my shoe” (Ps. lx. 8), meaning “I have renounced Edom,”
is another illustration. So that the ceremony now observed by Chinese
brides has in all probability a reference to that current of old in
Palestine and at the present day known throughout England.
Those acquainted with Scandinavian folk-lore will have noted how many
points relating to marriage turn upon the bride’s endeavours to get her
husband to do something implying future subjection to her will. Thus if
a Swedish bride drop her handkerchief, and the bridegroom, from
politeness, stoops to pick it up, his act is regarded as an omen that
he will play second fiddle during his married life. [34] Now the
Chinese girl does something very similar, when, it being time for the
bridegroom and herself to sit down together, she endeavours to sit upon
a part of his dress; [35] in which case he may conclude that
“I’ll be no submissive wife
No not I!”
pretty fairly expresses the bride’s thoughts. If he sits on her skirt,
however, the omen is reversed, though from what is known of Chinese
brides it may be concluded that they do not often succeed in being the
“one” into which the two are made. [36] There is a point about the
selection of the husband or wife which I may, by the way, notice. In
China marriages are forbidden between people of the same family name,
even though they are not in any way connected. Now in Yorkshire it is
very unlucky to marry a man whose name begins with the same letter as
the bride’s. [37] May not the two ideas have a common origin?—both
being evidently at one time founded on the idea of blood-relationship.
That “Matches are made in heaven” is a confirmed belief in China.
Superstitions connected with death have in all countries obtained
credence, and we need not therefore be surprised to find that China
abounds with them. “Born hardly, die hardly,” is as much a Chinese as
an English saying. Even the strange idea (as we deem it) of purchasing
a coffin before death is a not uncommon practice in many parts of
Germany, [38] and may be found existing, in remote country districts in
England, so that the idea of securing a comfortable coffin is not so
purely Chinese as some might think. [39] There is a striking similarity
between many Chinese ceremonies and superstitions connected with the
burial of the dead, and our own. One peculiar superstition of the
Borders is, that for a cat or dog to pass over a corpse is fearfully
ominous. The Chinese have a belief that if a pregnant female animal
pass over the dead person, the corpse will rise up and pursue those
nearest to it, and if it overtakes any one, strangle him. [40]
A home belief in the efficacy of burying the dead in woollen clothes,
and originating in an Act passed in the reign of Charles II. “for the
encouragement of the woollen and paper manufactures of the kingdom,”
has its parallel in China. They here think that every one should be
buried in his best clothes, but in some localities except the use of
satin or a girdle, on account of the characters which signify those
articles being pronounced in the local dialect the same as words
signifying “to cut short—sons,” and so implying the speedy death of the
sons of the family. The usual rule is to select silk, crape, or the
finest cotton for grave clothes, [41] care being always taken to put
two more articles of dress on the upper than on the lower part of a
corpse: thus it will have 3 jackets and 1 pair of trowsers, 5 jackets
and 3 pairs trowsers, and so on, the very rich being buried in as many
as nine upper garments. The corpse is then bound with long strips of
cloth, two of which must be white and one red. After swathing, the ends
are tied in an “auspicious knot;” and as many of these knots are tied
at various places on the body as the material used will allow.
I have already alluded to the custom of using lights at marriages and
traced a faint resemblance to a European custom in that observed by the
Chinese. But as regards burials the parallel is much more exact. In the
lowlands of Scotland a candle is waved thrice round a corpse as it is
“sained” or blessed. In China candles are kept burning round the coffin
after the body has been laid out, “to light the spirit of the dead upon
his way,” and a similar custom appears to have obtained amongst almost
every people in the European world. [42] As everybody knows, the
coffins of those lying in state are surrounded by wax tapers, which are
kept burning until the day of interment. A candle used to be set upon a
dead body in Northumberland, and a similar practice prevailed in the
Isle of Man; while the modern Jews set a light at the head of one
recently departed. Still more exact is the analogy between the Chinese
custom of carrying torches before the dead at funerals and that which
always existed amongst the ancient Jews, and until very recent times
obtained amongst ourselves. Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, Vol.
II., p. 276 et seq., gives a long account of the uses of torches and
lights in this connection.
Amongst the curious superstitions attaching to death in China is one
that, if two “cash” be placed in the sleeve of the dead man and then
shaken out, the result of the “toss” will signify the feeling of the
departed. Thus, if both turn up obverse or reverse, it is concluded
that the defunct is perfectly satisfied, while, if one be obverse and
the other not, it signifies that something has been wrongly done. These
cash are religiously preserved for similar use after the corpse is
buried, when a mode of divination by tossing is resorted to, if it be
desired to learn the wishes of the dead man as to family arrangements,
the respect paid to his manes, &c. It is also customary in China to
carefully reverse the direction of the body before putting it into the
coffin—a practice to which I cannot find any Western parallel.
During the blessing or “saining” of a corpse in Scotland all the
windows of the house are opened so as to give the soul free egress. In
Fuhkien (where the windows are not quite so large as in European
houses) they carry out a similar idea by making a hole in the roof.
[43] Even the superstitious respect accorded to the cock, as capable of
being influenced from the unseen world (evidenced by the carrying of a
white cock or its paper image on Chinese coffins, so as to allure the
soul of the departed to enter it) finds a parallel in western Europe.
The Ischortzi of Ingria (Finland) burn a white cock on the festival of
St. John, when they visit the tombs of their departed friends. A French
receipt, by the bye, for raising the devil given by Mr. S. Baring-Gould
directs one to go to where four cross-roads meet, with a black cock
under your arm; call out Poule noire! three times and the devil will
come and take the cock and leave you a handful of money. Scandinavian
lore also is full of allusions to the same bird.
A superstition prevails amongst the Chinese regarding “watching
spirits” to which I am tempted to accord a rather lengthy notice. The
unwillingness of the natives to help a drowning man, or any one in
absolute peril of life, is based upon a belief that the ghost of the
last man killed, always acts as watchman of the purgatory into which,
according to Chinese belief, the spirit of the departed first enter,
and from which he can only be relieved by the arrival of a fresh
defunct. If, therefore, a man’s life be saved, the spirit of the person
who died last before him is, in a manner, cheated out of his relief,
and will assuredly haunt the person whose misplaced humanity has
condemned it to a fresh term of dismal servitude. Now this belief in a
“watching spirit” is essentially Gaelic: and the following extract from
a recent issue of the Inverness Courier shews a parallelism so close as
to be very singular. A correspondent writes:—“I was sailing past the
beautiful island of St. Mungo, in Loch Leven, the burial place for many
centuries of the people of Nether-Lochaber and Glencoe, when the
following conversation took place between myself and an old man who
managed the sails while I steered. It was all in Gaelic, of course, but
I give the substance in English:—‘You were at the funeral on the island
the other day, sir?’ interrogatively observed my companion. ‘I was,
indeed,’ I replied. ‘John ——,’ he continued, naming the deceased, ‘was
a very decent man.’ ‘He was a fine old Highlander, shrewd and
intelligent,’ I replied, ‘and, what is more, I believe a very good
man.’ ‘Donald ——,’ naming a person we both knew, ‘is very ill, and not
likely to last long.’ ‘I saw him to-day,’ I observed, ‘and I fear that
what you say is true: he cannot last long.’ ‘Well, sir, it will be a
good thing for John —— (the person recently buried): his term of
watching will be a short one.’ ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ I
observed, with some curiosity. ‘The man is dead and buried; what
watching should he have to do?’ ‘Why, sir, don’t you know that the
spirit of the last person buried in the island has to keep watch and
ward over the graves till the spirit of the next person buried takes
his place?’ ‘I really did not know that,’ I replied. ‘Is it a common
opinion that such is the case, and do you believe it yourself?’ ‘Well,
sir, it is generally believed by the people; and having always heard
that it was so, I cannot well help believing it too. The spirit whose
watch it is is present there day and night. Some people have seen them;
my mother, God rest her! once pointed out to me, when I was a little
boy, an appearance, as of a flame of light on the island, slowly moving
backwards and forwards, and she assured me it was the watching spirit
going his rounds.’ ‘What particular object has the spirit in watching?’
I asked. ‘Well, I don’t exactly know,’ was the answer. ‘He just takes a
sort of general charge of the Island of the Dead, until his successor
arrives.’ I have since found that a belief in this superstition is
common among the old people. The spirit or ghost is supposed to be to a
certain extent unhappy and impatient of relief while in the discharge
of this office, and thus, it is considered that the sooner after a
funeral there is occasion again for the opening of a grave, the better
it is for the spirit of the last person interred, who then, and not
till then, passes finally and fully to his rest.” [44]
The Chinese idea of watching the dead—a duty which amongst them
devolves upon the eldest son and his brothers until the coffin is
removed for interment, finds expression also amongst ourselves. Mr.
Henderson, in his Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, says: “The corpse
must be watched till its burial by one of its kindred and a stranger,
who may be relieved, when weary, by another relation and another
stranger.” In China the incense stick which is straight (emblematical
of the “straight road” which the spirit of the deceased ought to
travel) must not be allowed to go out lest the spirit lose its way.
With us the “Saining Candle” must be kept burning during the night.
The idea of furnishing the dead with food, arms, clothing, money, etc.,
is essentially Chinese, but by no means confined to them. Mr. D. Forbes
states that the Aymara Indians supply the dead with food and clothing.
[45] Horses are sacrificed at the funerals of the Red Indians, and dogs
used to be at the funerals of the Aztecs, while camels formed the
funeral sacrifices of the Bedouins. The Chinese, less extravagant,
consume paper models of money, animals, and boats, with a similar
object; and the reminder of the Stygian ferry in the use of paper junks
is at least odd. [46] The belief that the spirits of the dead pass over
routes used by the living is in like manner a superstition common to
both East and West. The ceremonials observed in this country to
facilitate their passage, and the beatings of gongs to frighten away
evil spirits are equally observed by the Kasi Indians, who, when the
funeral cortege happens to pass a puddle, lay down a straw for the dead
man’s soul to use as a bridge. An ancient Chinese practice is, by the
way, curious. They used to bury the dead in the same position as the
fœtus assumes in the womb. I have nowhere met with any modern mention
of this custom. According to the Chinese ritual the relations of one
deceased assume mourning (made of white hempen cloth) seven days after
his death. Though in our own case there is probably no superstitious
origin in the custom it may be noted by way of coincidence that we
usually bury people after the expiration of that interval, which is the
first time the mourners appear publicly clad in the habiliments of woe.
A number of curious practices connected with burial and mourning are
without doubt purely Chinese. Thus, on the sixtieth day after death,
the family place on a table a number of plates containing offerings of
food, &c., accompanied by the never-absent incense. Besides these they
place on the table a wash-bowl full of water in which is floating half
a duck’s egg. A paper and bamboo duck, astride of which is a paper
human image, is then placed on the water beside it. The image
personifies the deceased, the duck his means of transport and the
egg-shell a boat. The use of both duck and boat to cross the Chinese
Styx is not very clear, but they are probably intended to give the
deceased a choice of conveyance. A yet more inexplicable practice is
that of placing a paper image of the departed in a wheeled sedan-chair
of similar material, to which is attached a paper crane as if in the
act of drawing the sedan. Ranged in front of the crane are numerous
articles of dress, money &c. (all of course in paper), and in some way
the crane is supposed to convey both the spirit of the deceased and the
goods on their onward passage.
Our own custom of throwing earth upon the coffin when the solemn words
“earth to earth, ashes to ashes” are pronounced by the clergyman, is
closely paralleled in China. Directly the coffin has been lowered, “the
sons of the deceased hasten to scatter earth into the grave. This earth
they have previously put into the lap of their sackcloth mourning
garments, and they manage to shake it out so as to fall upon the coffin
if possible.” [47] The idea thus symbolized is in both cases the same.
It is, by the way, to be noted that, in China, when husband and wife
are buried side by side, the grave of the husband must be on the left
side (the place of honour). The water coming from a hill on which a
grave has been dug is esteemed peculiarly lucky for use and is termed
“dragon’s water”—in reference to the term usually applied to the hill
near to or on which, when possible, sites for graves are always
selected. [48] The superstitious aversion shewn in China to permitting
a corpse to enter or be buried within the walls of a city has obtained
at various times in many parts of the Western world. The Moors never
bury their dead within the bounds of an inhabited place, and the
inhabitants of Thibet used, it was said, to be similarly particular,
always exposing them on the tops of mountains.
Most who have read anything about China are aware of the great
importance attached to selecting a lucky place for a grave. Dr.
Williams, in writing on this subject, laments the way in which the
Chinese are befooled by the doctrines of Fung-shuey in this regard; but
we are not so certain that Englishmen, at best, can afford to look down
upon China from any very high elevation. A spot free from water and
white ants, and commanding a good view, while at the same time under
favorable geomantic influences, is what the Chinese aim at. Our people
of the Border counties, more enlightened, (?) prefer the South side of
a churchyard as the “holiest ground,” reserving the North for suicides
and stillborn infants. A rare tract, published in 1589, sneers at a
deceased man because he would not be laid East and West “for he ever
went against the hair.” The South wind, says the same authority, ever
brings corruption with it. [49] It is quite certain that traces of a
very widespread superstition as to the depth, direction and general
lucky aspect of graves still exists in England, though now-a-days
surviving only in remote districts.
A native practice universally quoted in Europe as illustrative of the
contradiction between Chinese customs and our own is that of wearing
white for mourning—white being, in China, “an emblem of evil or
sorrow.” But the practice is not so opposed to European ideas as some
may think. At the funerals of unmarried persons of both sexes, as well
as infants, the scarves, hatbands and gloves given in England as
mourning used always to be white. The Chinese do not present mourners
with these adjuncts of the funeral, but give in place of them white
“crying cloths” or, as we should say, pocket handkerchiefs. It may be
interesting here to note also that black is not of universal use even
in the West. The Egyptians use yellow, the Syrians, Armenians and
Cappadocians light sky-blue, and the Ethiopians grey. Henry VIII. is
referred to in Hall’s Chronicle as wearing white mourning for the
unfortunate Anne Boleyn; while Plutarch (Langley’s Translation) writes
that, “The women in their mournynge laide a parte all purple, golde,
and sumtuous apparell, and were clothed both they and their kinsfolk in
white apparell.” * * * “Of this ceremonie, as I take it (adds the
translator) the French quenes toke the occasion, after the death of
their housebandes, the kynges, to weare onely white clothying.” The
motives however of the Italians in adopting this colour were
diametrically the opposite of those influencing the Chinese.—“The white
colour was thought fittest for the ded, because it is clere, pure, and
sincer, and leaste defiled.”
The student of Chinese folk-lore will search in vain for any expression
of the old superstition regarding female apparitions as harbingers of
decease. [50] The Chinese theory of death is that it takes place in
accordance with the reckoning of Heaven, exercised through the power of
the God or Goddess controlling the special disease from which the
patient suffers. To this latter, therefore, prayers and offerings are
addressed, and if they prove unsuccessful the petitioners comfort
themselves by remarking that it is the decree of fate. The absence of
supernatural ghostly portents in this connection amongst a people so
superstition-ridden as the inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom is quite
as curious as the existence of its numerous beliefs.
Finally, it may be interesting to point out that the extreme dislike
entertained by the Chinese to disturbing a grave, based on the
supposition that the spirit of the person buried will haunt and cause
ill-luck or death to the disturbers, has been felt amongst Englishmen.
Aubrey, referring to the disinterment of the body of Mary, Queen of
Scots, says, “it always bodes ill to a family where bodies are removed
from their graves. For some of the family will die shortly after, as
did Prince Henry and I think Queen Anne.” The Chinese also, like
ourselves, deem certain hours of the twenty-four more fatal to life
than others. Recorded statistics in England give them as from 5 to 6
a.m., (maximum) 11 p.m. to 12 midnight, and 9 to 10 a.m. The Chinese
hold that noon and midnight are the two most fatal periods. [51]
III.—DAYS AND SEASONS.
The superstitions of the Chinese concerning lucky and unlucky days are
so numerous that, though they scarcely exceed, they certainly equal
those which, some 300 years ago, existed amongst our own ancestors. To
commence with those referring to periods rather than dates, we may note
that the seventh day is reputed to possess much the same mystic
properties by the Chinese as it was by the Western ancients. This may
arise from its being an astronomical period—the moon’s phases being
always spoken of as changing every seven days. But whatever the reason,
both the seventh day and the period it begins or terminates is
constantly observed in Chinese ceremonies. Thus, for example, the
seventh, fourteenth, twenty-eighth and thirty-fifth days after a
person’s death are specially set aside for mourning observances. The
seventh day is critical in fevers; and the seventh evening of the
seventh month is the great worshipping time for women. But, more than
this, we find that the Chinchew edition of the Imperial Almanack
invariably marks the Christian Sabbath with a character, signifying
“rest or quiet,” though simply taken by the natives to mean
unauspicious for work. Dr. Carstairs Douglas thus wrote on this subject
in Vol. 4 p. 38 of Notes and Queries on China and Japan: “In the
edition of the Imperial Almanack published at Chinchew
(Tsʻuên-cheu-foo) and at Amoy and all the country round, the Christian
Sabbath is invariably marked by the character mih (pronounced in Amoy
bit), which means ‘secret,’ ‘quiet’ or ‘silent.’... I have not met with
any heathen who can throw any light on the meaning or history of this
remarkable character as it stands in the Almanack, though I have made
enquiries both among the literati and at the office in Chinchew where
it is published. The only trace of its meaning (excepting of course the
plain and unmistakable sense of the word itself) as used by the Chinese
at present, is that it is always placed in that part of the page which
contains the inauspicious elements of each day, which make it unlucky
for doing work. This seems clearly to prove that the original use of
the phrase was to indicate ‘a day of rest.’” Dr. Douglas then goes on
to shew that the assumption of its having been introduced by the
Jesuits is scarcely tenable, inasmuch as it is not found in the
almanacks published at Peking, where Jesuit influence was greatest;
while if its introduction were so recent it would not probably have
found its way into the category of the criteria of lucky and unlucky
days, which are always supposed to rest on the highest antiquity. The
discussion was finally set at rest by Mr. Wylie, who explained “mih” as
being a transcript of the Persian “mitra” for Sunday introduced into
the Chinese Calendar through Indian astronomers. [52] It is noteworthy
that the day always coincides with the Christian, and not the Jewish
Sabbath.
The fifteenth day of the eighth moon is a day on which a ceremony is
performed by the Chinese which of all others we should least expect to
find imitated amongst ourselves. Most people resident in China have
seen the moon-cakes which so delight the heart of the Chinese during
the eighth month of every year. These are made for an autumnal festival
often described as “congratulating” or “rewarding” the moon. The moon,
it is well known, represents the female principle in Chinese celestial
cosmogony, and she is further supposed to be inhabited by a multitude
of beautiful females; the cakes made in her honour are therefore
veritable offerings to this Queen of the Heavens. Now in a part of
Lancashire, on the banks of the Ribble, there exists a precisely
similar custom of making cakes in honour of the “Queen of Heaven”—a
relic, in all probability, of the old heathen worship which was the
common fount of the two customs.
The Chinese carry out the idea of lucky days to a remarkable extent.
While we now saddle only one day in the week with ill luck, they have
selected a number of days in each month as uncanny for work, or even
amusement. [53] On the 7th and other days you must not start on a
journey, change your dwelling place, plant or sow, go to school for the
first time, repair your house, purchase landed property, &c. The
superstition as to not starting on a journey seems to be common to all
nations. We know the origin of Friday being an unlucky day amongst
ourselves, as being that of the Crucifixion. [54] But it is evident,
that an older superstition is the basis of the tradition, and a
thorough investigation would probably give us some common starting
point for both the Aryan and Mongolian families.
A book in popular circulation in Southern China called the 黃歴通書
(hwang-li-tung-shu) gives an exhaustive return of lucky and unlucky
days, from which I extract the following information. It must be
premised that the 365 days of the year are divided into sets of twelve
days, each being under the supposed influence of a certain planet, a
certain zodiacal sign, [55] a certain terrestrial element and one of
the twenty-eight “lunar mansions.” There is a further series of twelve
terms, expressing the lucky or unlucky characters of given days which
in the eyes of the people embody the result total of the astrological
bearings of any given day. They are thus arranged and named, though it
does not follow that the terms will in any given month agree with the
dates here stated:—
+---+------------+-------------------------------------------------+
| 除 | 1 13 25 | Very lucky. |
| 滿 | 2 14 26 | Neither lucky nor unlucky. |
| 除 | 3 15 27 | Neither lucky nor unlucky. |
| 定 | 4 16 28 | Very lucky. |
| 執 | 5 17 29 | Neither lucky nor unlucky. |
| 破 | 6 18 30 | Very unlucky. |
| 危 | 7 19 .. | Very unlucky. |
| 成 | 8 20 .. | Very lucky. |
| 收 | 9 21 .. | Neither very lucky nor unlucky, rather unlucky. |
| 開 | 10 22 .. | Neither lucky nor unlucky. |
| 閉 | 11 23 .. | Unlucky. |
| 建 | 12 24 .. | Neither lucky nor unlucky. |
+---+------------+-------------------------------------------------+
The foregoing table shews the practical application of this system.
Thus it may happen that in a given month the 6th, 7th, 9th, 11th, 18th,
23rd, and 30th days of a month are very unlucky.
The 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 10th, 12th, 14th, 15th, 17th, 22nd, 24th, 26th, 27th
and 29th are neither lucky nor unlucky.
The 9th and 21st are rather lucky; while the 1st, 8th, 13th, 20th and
25th are very lucky.
From the explanations affixed we learn that the 6th, 18th and 30th of
the month shewn, though unlucky in other respects, are lucky for
hunting and fishing, calling in a doctor, or pulling down a house. The
character 破 pʻo means “to rend,” “break,” or “take by storm.” The 7th
and 19th again, to which the character 危 wei, signifying “danger,” is
prefixed are not quite so unlucky as the 6th, 10th, 18th, 22nd and
30th. The 11th and 23rd, unlucky for general purposes, are particularly
so to white ants and other vermin, as those days are lucky for their
destruction, filling up holes, &c., the character given 閉 pi meaning to
“shut,” “close,” or “obstruct.” The 2nd, 3rd, 14th, 15th, 26th and 27th
are good for meeting friends, and (as well as the 9th and 21st) are
peculiarly suitable for taking a baby out for its first airing. [56] On
the 5th, 17th and 29th one can cut wood, hunt, fish, and, if you find
them, catch wild animals. Not long since a party of gentlemen resident
in Hongkong went over to the mainland to look for a tiger which was
reported to have visited the neighbourhood of Deep Bay, but as they
neglected to choose a “lucky” day their success (as the natives
observed) was not remarkable. One is hardly prepared to find the 12th
and 24th, noted as “neither lucky nor unlucky,” recommended as
propitious days for worshipping at the temples, making proposals of
marriage and moving house. “Cutting out clothes,” which is perhaps not
a very interesting occupation at any time, is also recommended on these
dates.
The 10th and 22nd in the month above given do not carry an invariably
lucky status with them, it depending very much upon the month in which
they occur. They are, however, always propitious for hunting and
fishing. The 9th and 21st, in addition to being, as above noted, good
for babies, are fortunate for building, cutting wood, seeing friends,
proposing in marriage, marrying, and making and mending drains—a
sufficiently incongruous selection of employments. Finally upon the
1st, 4th, 8th, 13th, 16th, 20th, 25th and 28th, anything can be done,
while the 8th and 20th are the luckiest days of all.
But New Year’s day is for certain things the day of luck. According to
Chinese belief you may on this date, in almost any year, present
religious offerings or vows to heaven, put on full dress, fine caps,
and elegant attire; at noontide one should “sit with one’s face to the
south;” may make matrimonial matches, pay calls, get married, set out
on a journey, order new clothes, commence repairs to a house, lay
foundations, or raise up the framework of it; set sail, enter into
business contracts, carry on commerce, collect accounts, pound, grind,
plant, sow, &c. Nor are other superstitions connected with this
auspicious day wanting. Like our own old women in the more remote
country districts, the Chinese attach considerable importance to the
“first-foot” or person first seen after the New Year has set in. A fair
man is a lucky first-foot in the North, while a woman is peculiarly
unlucky. In China a Buddhist Priest is regarded as the most
ill-foreboding mortal it is possible to set eyes on as a first-foot.
Another similarity is to be found in the common superstition that the
first words heard in the year will affect the fortune of the hearer for
the coming twelve months. In Lincolnshire they arrange with the “first
foot” to repeat a lucky rhyme. [57] In China the women go out secretly
and listen to persons talking in the street. The first sentence heard
is held to contain a prediction, good or bad, of the listener’s luck
for the ensuing year.
Another curious coincidence between Chinese and British belief is
afforded in the fact that the former people have a sort of “St.
Swithin’s Day.” [58] Our own popular rhyme is sufficiently well known
St. Swithin’s day, if thou dost rain,
For forty days it will remain;
St. Swithin’s day, if thou be fair,
For forty days ’twill rain nae mair:
and I need not more particularly allude to the legend concerning
him—how the violation of his grave was followed by the “40 days rain.”
A correspondent of the Shanghai Courier and China Gazette thus writes
on the 5th March 1875:—“The first prediction as to the fortunes of the
New Year rested on the state of the weather on the first day of spring,
which coincided with our February the 3rd. ‘Heaven grant that it may
not rain a drop to-morrow,’ said a boatman to me on the evening of
February 2nd. ‘If it does,’ he continued, ‘the crops will be below
average for a certainty; and the price of rice will go up.’ ‘Why so?’ I
asked. ‘Don’t you know,’ he replied, ‘that if it rains on “lih
chʻing,”’ (the first day of spring) ‘it will rain more or less for
forty days afterwards.’ A curious coincidence this with our St.
Swithin’s Day; and it is observable that the Chinese prophets, as well
as the authors of the memorial prophecies of the irate Saint Swithin,
make their predictions sufficiently elastic to save their credit—‘more
or less for forty days.’” It is noteworthy that the Chinese prediction
is seldom verified, and that our own popular prediction is almost
equally sure to be false, special observations taken at Greenwich for
twenty years having shewn that rain fell in the largest number of days
when St. Swithin’s Day was dry! With amusing agreement there were more
wet days than dry ones following the recent 3rd February in China,
although that day was distinguished by “a bright sun and a cloudless
sky!” Weather predictions in either country are evidently of equal
value. [59] The Hakkas (and also many Puntis) believe that if in the
night of the 15th day of the 8th month (mid-autumn) there are clouds
obscuring the moon before midnight, it is a sign that oil and salt will
become very dear. If, however, there are clouds obscuring the moon
after midnight, the price of rice will, it is supposed, undergo a
similar change.
IV.—PORTENTS OR OMENS, AUGURIES, LUCKY NUMBERS AND DREAMS.
Portents or omens exert, as might be expected, a telling influence on
Chinese everyday life, and implicit belief is placed in the effect
which will follow certain unintentional acts on the part of any
individual. Spilling the salt is held to forebode ill-luck amongst
ourselves, and similarly the upsetting of the oil jar foretells
misfortune to the Chinaman. The appearance and flight of birds seems,
again, to have been regarded as an augury by every nation of whose
social life details have come down to us, and it is not therefore
surprising that the crow should in China be regarded as an omen of
evil, just as it is looked upon amongst ourselves. Our North Country
children cry when they see one
“Crow, crow, get out of my sight
Or else I’ll eat thy liver and light;”
while a Chinese mutters an invocation against the evil harbinger, its
cry being considered so unlucky that when any one about to undertake an
affair hears it, he generally postpones action. On the other hand,
while our old superstition concerning magpies is adverse to the
appearance of a single bird—
“One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a wedding,
And four for a birth,”
the Chinese consider the solitary visitor an omen of good luck. A duck
quacking as one passes is, they hold, just the contrary. Regarding dogs
the agreement of English belief with that of China is singular. For a
strange dog to follow a person is regarded in most parts of our own
rural districts as lucky. The Chinese say that if a strange dog comes
and remains with one, it is an omen of good to his family and indicates
that he will become more wealthy. [60] Cats, on the other hand, are
inauspicious beasts, and a display of sudden attachment, such as that
just noted, foreshadows poverty and distress. “May kittens should be
drowned,” according to English folk-lore; but I am not aware that the
full-grown animal is deemed particularly objectionable except by
sailors, who aver that when a cat becomes unusually frolicsome it
portends a storm. Hens also come in for a share of the feeling
expressed in the distich
“A whistling woman and crowing hen
Are neither fit for Gods or men.”
“In China the crowing of a hen is considered ominous of something
unusual about to happen in the family to which it belongs. In order to
ascertain whether this event is propitious or unpropitious, the
relative position of the fowl, while crowing, is to be observed. If the
hen crows while her head is toward the outside, or the front of the
premises, it is an unpropitious prognostication, foreshadowing poverty
or ill luck of some kind; whereas, if her head is pointing toward the
rear of the premises while crowing, it is an omen of good, indicating a
more prosperous state of the family. Few families will keep a crowing
hen, even should she betoken future good, as extraordinary omens like
this are deemed undesirable. The unfortunate fowl is either sold or
killed as soon as possible after she has commenced to crow. It is said
that if a cock should crow about ten or eleven o’clock in the evening,
he is not allowed to remain on the premises long, being killed or sold,
as such crowing denotes future evil to the family of the owner.” [61] A
precisely similar belief obtained amongst our own ancestors. “Moresin
ranked the unseasonable crowing of a cock amongst omens,” says Brand;
and in Morier’s Journey through Persia, p. 62, we read: “Amongst the
superstitions in Persia, that which depends on the crowing of a cock is
not the least remarkable. If the cock crows at a proper hour, they
esteem it a good omen; if at an improper season, they kill him. I am
told that the favourable hours are at nine, both in the morning and in
the evening, at noon, and at midnight.” The flight of birds, more
especially swallows, is also an omen in Chinese eyes. Classical
scholars do not need to be reminded how often this augury was consulted
amongst the Greeks and Romans. A Chinaman never wilfully kills
swallows. The French of the Mediterranean term them ames damnées and
have also a superstitious regard for them—a queer coincidence, to say
the least of it. Bats again in China afford omens of good fortune. The
Chinese name of the animal is fuk shil (in Cantonese) or “Rat of
Happiness,” and its erratic dashes into a room or summer-house are held
to augur coming luck to the occupants. With us, similar conduct on the
part of a robin red-breast is an omen of calamity.
But these agreements of superstition are not confined to crows, dogs,
bats, cooks, and hens. The owl occupies the same position in Chinese
esteem as it did in ancient Roman eyes, and as it still does in Great
Britain. Pliny called it “inauspicata et funebris avis,” while similar
epithets are applied to the bird by Ovid, Lucian, and Claudian. Chaucer
described it as
“The Oule eke, that of deth the bode bringeth,”
and Spencer speaks of it as the bird “that whoso heares doth die.”
Butler, in his Hudibras, p. 2. Canto III. l. 707, refers to the
lustration which Rome underwent because an owl had strayed into the
capital. Bourne describes it as “a most abominable and unlucky bird,”
whose hoarse and dismal voice “is an omen of the approach of some
terrible thing: that some dire calamity and some great misfortune is
near at hand.” Brand devotes several pages to quotations, ancient and
modern, in the same sense. [62] Now let us see what the Chinese have to
say of the bird of Minerva. “The voice of the owl is universally heard
with dread, being regarded as the harbinger of death in the
neighbourhood.” I shall perhaps be pardoned if, for the sake of making
this notice exhaustive, I quote the following from Mr. Doolittle’s
interesting chapter on this and kindred subjects.
Some say that its voice resembles the voice of a spirit or demon
calling out to its fellow. Perhaps it is on account of this notion
that they so often assert having heard the voice of a spirit, when
they may have heard only the indistinct hooting of a distant owl.
Sometimes, the Chinese say, its voice sounds much like an
expression for “digging” the grave. Hence, probably, the origin of
a common saying, that when one is about to die, in the neighborhood
will be heard the voice of the owl, calling out, “dig, dig.” It is
frequently spoken of as the bird which calls for the soul, or which
catches or takes away the soul. Some assert that if its cry is dull
and indistinct, as though proceeding from a distant place, it
betokens the death of a near neighbor; whereas, if its notes are
clear and distinct, as if proceeding from a short distance, it is a
sure harbinger of the death of a person in a remote
neighborhood—the more distinct the voice, the more distant the
individual whose decease is indicated; and the more indistinct the
voice, the nearer the person whose death is certain! It is a common
saying that this bird is a transformation of one of the servants of
the ten kings of the infernal regions, i.e., is a devil under the
guise of a bird. It is also frequently referred to as a “constable
from the dark land.”
To pass from birds to eggs, it may be noted that a Lancashire
superstition that to set a hen on an even number of eggs will result in
their being addled, or in the chickens not thriving, exists also in
South China.
I have already referred to shoes in connection with birth and marriage,
but can find no precise analogy to the “shoe omens” in vogue in
Europe—such as the ill luck which it is feared will befall the person
who puts a left shoe on a right foot and vice versa. Mirrors, however,
share in China the superstitious respect paid to their preservation at
home. To break a looking-glass is in most parts of Europe deemed a very
unlucky accident. “When a looking glass is broken it is an omen that
the party to whom it belongs will lose his best friend. Grose tells us
that breaking a looking-glass betokens a mortality in the family,
commonly the master;” [63] and Buonaparte, having once broken the glass
over Josephine’s portrait, could not rest till a special courier had
informed him of her safety. This belief exists in full force in China.
To break a mirror augurs a separation from one’s wife by death, or
otherwise, and is only second in ominous portent to breaking an oil
jar. And this superstition of a connection existing between the mirror
and its owner’s life is evidenced also by its use in cases of sickness
to form the head of a sort of figure made of one of the sick man’s
coats which, suspended to a bamboo with the end leaves still on it, is
carried about in the vicinity of the house in the hope of attracting
the departing soul back to its body. Mirrors are also used as charms,
under which head their use will be described.
Who has not noticed or heard of the bizarre arrangements of Chinese
gardens and rockeries? The motive for this laying out the pleasure
grounds attached to large houses is not simply ornamental. No doubt the
Chinaman is one of the most ingenious of landscape gardeners, but the
crooked walks and abrupt turns not only economize space but are
“lucky,” inasmuch as they discourage the advent of evil spirits, who
like the “broad way” in China much as they are reputed to do in Europe.
Now in England, says a recent writer, “Good luck seems to be attached
to everything deformed or crooked. Thus, a crooked sixpence, all
England through, is lucky; also placing crooked pins in walls is a very
common custom. I never could learn the reason why, although I have
known it extended to highways and lanes, such as being cautioned never
to build a house in a straight lane, but always to choose (because
lucky) a crooked or lane with many curves and turnings.” It looks very
much as if the two superstitions were identical, but fearful of being
too dogmatic I leave readers to draw their own inference.
A recent English writer remarks that “throughout our history, and even
in our own day among the vulgar, every eclipse or comet is regarded as
the harbinger of some storm, or inundation, or some contagious
disease.” The sentence may stand as it is to describe the Chinese
sentiment, with the slight omission of the words “amongst the vulgar;”
for prince and peasant alike believe that the astrologers do not lie.
But more astonishing still is it to find that an able writer, Dr.
Forster, in his Illustrations of the Atmospherical Origin of Epidemic
Disorders, gives tables occupying 40 closely-printed 8vo. pages, to
shew that the visits of these scourges have really been concurrent with
the appearance and approach of comets. He in fact gravely supports the
theory held by the Chinese (who by the way say, the longer the comet’s
tail, the greater the disturbance), so far as it relates to disease.
The natives consider a comet to portend war also, and as rebel fighting
is generally going on somewhere in the Middle Kingdom, have no great
difficulty in proving their case. Stars have, since the remotest
antiquity, been held by this people to serve as portents or warnings,
generally on the side of order and good government. Some eight years
ago the Southern rebels had advanced from Tsao-chow to capture
Chi-ning-chow, and as the city was badly defended they would have had
an easy task, but for one circumstance that intervened. They fancied
they saw on the Eastern road “an enormous red star of an inexplicable
nature, within which was plainly visible Kwan-ti in armour, and with a
helmet surmounting his fiery face and mighty beard. He darted about at
the head of his legions just as he is represented as doing in
paintings, and the tumult of his innumerable host was distinctly
heard.” The rebels were affrighted and fled, and it was officially
recorded that “the spirit of Kwan-ti had preserved the city of
Chi-ning-chow.” As regards eclipses, the popular belief of the Chinese
in the fact that the sun or moon is then being devoured by a dragon,
and the means adopted of beating gongs and firing crackers to frighten
the dragon away, have been held up to Western ridicule ever since books
about China have been written. But precisely the same beliefs and
practices prevailed amongst the Romans, Macedonians, Medes, Turks,
Italians, Irish and Welsh! I need not here quote authorities at length,
as they will all be found in Brand (Vol. III. p. 152–3). But I may note
that the Spartan belief that the appearance of shooting stars signified
that the king had offended the gods is not very far removed from the
Chinese idea that an eclipse is an omen of ill luck to the reigning
emperor—a belief curiously verified but a few months back when the
attack of small-pox from which the young emperor Tung Chih died was
concurrent with the occurrence of a solar eclipse.
Superstitions regarding bells may be classed under the heads both of
auguries and charms. The two largest bells in the empire—those at
Canton and Peking—are held to possess peculiarly portentous virtues. A
native account of the City of Canton states that the kin chung or
“tabooed bell,” as it is called, was cast in the beginning of the reign
of Hung-wu (therefore shortly after A.D. 1468, or five centuries ago),
but in consequence of a prophecy foretelling calamity to Canton
whenever it should give forth sound, was deprived of a clapper and the
means of access to it removed. At length one day a rash official
directed a man to strike it. No sooner had its reverberating boom been
heard, than upwards of a thousand male and female infants died within
the city. Some evil spirit had evidently been irritated at the bell
being rung, and to ward off his influence infants have, ever since,
worn bells upon the clothes. But the prophecy thus vindicated was still
supposed to hold good, and advantage was taken of the circumstance by
our bombarding force in 1857. It was suggested to the commander of one
of H. M’s. ships to aim a shot at the bell, and the result was that, as
calamity was indeed befalling the haughty city, the unwonted boom was
once again heard. A portion of the lower rim was fractured, and the
superstition thus recalled to the popular mind undoubtedly contributed
to a general belief in foreign prowess. [64] The belief regarding the
Peking bell is less deep-seated, being only to the effect that, if
struck by an unauthorized hand, the rain-god will immediately visit the
offence by sending down unneeded rain. Some years since, on the writer
with a party of friends, visiting the great bell-temple outside the
City, the Priests refused to strike the enormous specimen therein hung
(it is, by the way, the largest suspended bell in the world), lest the
rain-god should be offended. A small present from one of the party
however induced them to let the visitors draw back the heavy wooden ram
which did duty as a clapper. Strangely enough, as the first blow was
struck, a heavy rainstorm came on, and the shaven-pated attendants
roared out in high glee, “We told you so!” For once superstition
carried the day. It is unnecessary to remind at least London readers
that grave disaster to the Royal family is believed to follow the
unexpected tolling of the great bell of St. Paul’s. Bells, especially
if blessed by a priest, were formerly thought efficacious to scare away
evil spirits. Church bells have ever been regarded in a similar light;
and the passing-bell tolled for a dying man was of old supposed to
frighten off the demons who stood at the foot of the bed ready to
seize, or at least molest, the departing soul. The latter thus got a
fair start, or what sportsmen call “law.” “Hence,” says the authority I
am quoting, “the high charge made for tolling the great bell of the
Church,” as being more efficacious than smaller ones heard to a less
distance.
A writer in Notes and Queries states that a Scottish plan for securing
good luck, for the space of twelve months at least, is to draw a
bucket-full of water from the village well, at midnight, on New Year’s
eve, and, after throwing a handful of grass into it, to carry it
carefully home. If the drawer be a cow-keeper, he uses part of the
water to wash his dairy utensils, and gives the remainder to his cows,
in the rather dishonest hope that he will thereby obtain the cream of
the cows of such of his neighbors as use the well, and have not been so
wise as himself. Now this custom finds an exact counterpart in China.
Natives living in the neighbourhood of Canton believe that water drawn
on the night, or rather after midnight, of the seventh day of the
seventh moon, possesses special efficacy in the cure of cutaneous
diseases or fevers, if used in the cooking of gruel for a patient. It
is, moreover, believed that such water will not get putrid even if kept
for years, its efficacy indeed increasing with age. The date above
given is reported to be that of the descent of the female genii of the
Pleiades (possibly because the constellation is formed of seven stars).
Omens of personal sensation are as commonly accepted in China as in
England. With us burning or itching sensations on the body forebode ill
luck or calamities; thus, if you have a shivering fit, some one is
walking over your destined grave; if the right ear burns, you will hear
good news, but if the left, you are being defamed by an enemy. The
Chinese believe that if one of the eyelids move involuntarily, it
forebodes good or evil luck according to the hours at which the
sensation is experienced, and the eyelid (right or left) affected. As a
rule it is an ill omen. Sneezing indicates that some one is talking ill
of the person so relieving himself. Any twitching of the flesh or a
jumping sensation in the region of the heart always forebodes serious
ill fortune (the latter symptom, by the way, often needs no prophetic
interpretation); and if a man’s second finger shakes, it is a sign that
he will shortly be invited to a grand feast. Clothes again, especially
trowsers, have ominous properties. Our own goodwives tell us that it is
very unlucky to sew a button on a pair of breeches while wearing them.
The Chinese give a pair of the same indispensable articles of dress to
a young girl commencing to learn sewing, her successful efforts to
stitch them together foreboding wealth. Our saying that if two men wash
in the same bowl they will quarrel before sunset has a Chinese parallel
in the belief that sitting down in a chair still warm augurs that you
will shortly fall out with the last sitter.
It has always been deemed unlucky to meet a funeral in most parts of
England, and the Chinese entertain an exactly similar idea, especially
if the person meeting it is going to a wedding. In fact, many natives
will turn back from any business visit they are about to pay if they
come across either a funeral or a coffin. There is a quaint saying at
home that “Trouble will never come near folks whose eyebrows meet;” and
it is also alleged that ladies with overmuch down and gentlemen with
overmuch hair upon their arms and hands, carry about them Nature’s own
guarantee that they are born to be rich some day—as rich as those happy
individuals whose front teeth are set wide apart. The Chinese say that
“people whose eyebrows meet can never expect to attain to the dignity
of a Minister of State;” that “ladies with too much down or hair are
born to be poor all their lives;” but that “bearded men will never
become beggars.” In fact, it is scarcely possible to take up the most
ordinary magazine article on European folk-lore without noting in
almost every paragraph strange coincidences either in actual belief or
in the subject of a superstition. Even the appearance of a white speck
upon the finger nail or an itching sensation of the palm of the hand
(both ominous of coming gifts in England) bear significance in the eyes
of this mysteriously isolated people. The Chinese note that both the
foregoing are omens of coming evil.
The first words heard after making a resolution are supposed in China
to be ominous. Thus, if a man who has decided to do a certain
thing—say, for instance, recover a debt—hears the first person he meets
say mei-yu or m’hai (according to the dialect he speaks) he will defer
his visit. No Chinaman will open a shop, marry a wife, or engage in any
important undertaking without casting lots to see if the fates are
propitious. [65] The method of carrying this out is as follows: Each
temple in China has belonging to it about a hundred stanzas of poetry
relating to a variety of subjects; each stanza is numbered and printed
on a separate piece of paper; in addition to this, there are a quantity
of lots made of bamboo slips about eight inches long, corresponding to
the number of stanzas, and referring to them by number. The individual
who wishes to make application to the god presents himself before his
image on his knees, and after performing the ko-tow by touching the
ground with his head nine times, states his name and residence, the
object of his inquiries, and whether on his own or another’s account.
He then takes a bamboo tube containing the lots, and shakes it gently
before the idol until a slip falls to the ground. He then rises from
his knees and picks up this slip, and places it so that the god can see
the number of the lot written on it; he then takes two pieces of wood,
each having a round and a flat side. After passing these through the
incense, he tosses them into the air before the idol; if they fall so
that both round sides are uppermost, the answer is negative and
everything is unpropitious; if they fall with one round and one flat
side up, the answer is in the affirmative, and the man may go on his
way rejoicing. [66]
A belief in what we term lucky numbers pervades the whole arcana of
Chinese life and literature. Mr. Mayers, in the introduction to his
admirable Chinese Reader’s Manual, says: “In obedience it would seem to
an impulse the influence of which is distinctly marked in the literary
traditions of the Chaldeans, the Hebrews, and the Hindoos, a doctrine
of the hidden properties and harmonies of numbers imbues the earliest
recorded expression of Chinese belief. So also, it may be remarked, in
the teachings of Pythagoras an abstract theory of number was expounded
as underlying the whole system of existence, whence the philosophy of
the western would become tinged with conceptions strongly resembling
those which still prevail on the same subject in the Chinese mind.” Mr.
Mayers has here indicated the common source of many of those vulgar
beliefs now known as mere folk-lore; and humble as that is in
comparison with the more pretentious philosophy which he has so
skilfully elucidated, it is not wholly without interest. It would seem
that the popular saying “There is luck in odd numbers” meets with as
much belief in China as in England. I have already noted the fact that
the number 3 is, with an odd exception relating to marriage ceremonies,
deemed auspicious. Thus they speak of the 3 decades of heat, the 3
powers united in nature (tʻien, yang and yin), the 3 systems of
doctrine, the 3 forms of obedience, the 3 mental qualifications, the 3
powers of nature (heaven, earth and man), and so on, to say nothing of
the phrases in which the same number is pressed into service to express
real or assumed historical, geographical, and other facts, such as the
“3 kingdoms,” the “3 armies,” the “3 rivers,” the “3 heroes,” &c. [67]
Mr. Mayers’s exhaustive “Numerical Categories,” give the following
number of current phrases under the first ten numerals.
Under number 2 9 phrases.
,, ,, 3 68 ,,
,, ,, 4 40 ,,
,, ,, 5 63 ,,
,, ,, 6 38 ,,
,, ,, 7 18 ,,
,, ,, 8 25 ,,
,, ,, 9 30 ,,
,, ,, 10 12 ,,
Many of these have of course a reference to popular superstitions. Five
and Seven appear to be the favourite numbers in this respect. All the
forces and phenomena of nature are based upon the number five:—we have
therefore, Five active organs: the stomach, the lungs, the liver, the
heart, and the kidneys. Five colours: Yellow, White, Green, Red, Black.
Five varieties of taste: Sweet, Acrid, Sour, Bitter, Salt. Five
elements: Earth, Metal, Wood, Fire, Water. Five planets: Saturn, Venus,
Jupiter, Mars, Mercury. Five regions of heaven: Centre, West, East,
South, North. And so on throughout nature. And similarly as sounds
belong to the phenomena of nature, there must be five of them. It does
not appear that any particular virtue has ever been held to reside in
the number five amongst ourselves. The number seven, however, is as
portentous in China as in the Western world. Besides the Sabbathaical
use of the number, it enters so largely into the popular sayings of the
people that one is tempted to suppose anything but an accidental or
independent origin for its adoption. Thus the Chinese speak of the
seven passions, the seven spirits; they wish a bride seven children;
there are seven lawful reasons for divorce. The “Seven Joys” is a
common tea-shop sign. There are the seven Famous Persons of the Bamboo
Grove. Seven hands and eight feet is a common expression for “too many
cooks spoil the broth,” and I may note that a jury is commonly termed
in Hongkong (when the pidgin English word Ju-li is not used) the “seven
strangers.” Except to indicate a parallel, I need hardly here specify
the part which the same number plays in our own affairs. The Hebrew use
of the number is familiar to all. The seven wise men, the seven hills,
the seven senses, the seven churches, the seven angels, the seven
planets, and some thirty other similar expressions are in frequent use
amongst us. We transport rogues for seven and fourteen years and bind
apprentices for seven, and we find that, of old, Selenus the
mathematician, and Hippocrates, both held the Chinese idea of the
seventh day being critical in diseases.
Always excepting the tabooed 13, odd numbers have ever been popular in
England, in various circumstances. Thus we hold it lucky for an odd
number of people to sit down to dinner. The Chinese incline to an even
number, 8 being in their estimation the most fortunate. But as already
noted they share with us the superstitions as to setting a hen on an
odd number of eggs. On the other hand, the hair should not be combed on
odd days, more especially the 1st and 15th of a month. (The coiffure of
Chinese women being dressed with a glutinous substance, it is only
combed out at intervals.)
Dreams have ever played an important part in the psychological history
of the human race, and the belief in their portentous nature is
possibly the only superstition common to all mankind. As Dr. Kitto
(Cyclopædia of Biblical Literature, Art. Dreams) well observes:—“It is
quite clear from the inspired history that dreams were looked upon by
the earliest nations of antiquity as premonitions from their idol gods
of future events; ... and in order to guard against imposition Moses
pronounced a penalty against dreams which were invented and wickedly
made use of.” It is almost unnecessary to make reference to the belief
reposed in these alleged warnings from another world by Western
nations. The story of Mahomed’s dream is known to all; and I will
merely add that both the Negro and Fijian races believe them to be
caused by visits of the souls of deceased friends, while such widely
divergent races as the Finns and the Australian Aborigines entertain a
contrary belief that the soul of the dreamer leaves his body as it
enjoys or suffers imaginary pleasures or pains. [68] The Chinese refer
all dreams to the inspiration of a god or goddess, but frequently use
the divining bamboos to ascertain how they are to be interpreted. Many
of the principal temples in the empire owe their construction to
imaginary instructions received during sleep. A recent visitor to the
city of Tai An, situated at the foot of the Tai San mountains in
Shantung—one of the five sacred mountains of China—thus gives the local
legend: “The common account is, that Chin Tsung, the third Emperor of
Tʻang Dynasty, was afflicted with a grevious boil, which the Imperial
physicians could not cure. There was a Taouist Priest at Tai San called
Yen He, who declared that the Goddess of the mountain had appeared to
him in a dream and directed him to go to the capital and cure this boil
for the Emperor, at the same time directing him how to proceed. He went
accordingly, and gave out that he had come to cure the Emperor’s boil.
The Emperor hearing of it, called him in. As soon as he entered the
Imperial presence, the boil called out, ‘Yen He has come and my destiny
is finished;’ the Priest prescribed treatment, and the boil was cured.
The Emperor wished to reward him with an office, but he refused, saying
‘Your Majesty has not been cured by my power, but by the efficient
power of the God of Tai San; you should show your gratitude by
repairing the temple at Tai San.’ The Emperor assented, made a large
appropriation, and appointed an officer to have it rebuilt in
magnificent style.” I might multiply examples of this sort ad libitum.
The memorials in the Peking Gazette abound with references to acts
done, or crimes discovered in consequence of dreams. Mr. Doolittle
notes how dreaming has been pressed into the service of Buddhism at
Foochow by way of enforcing the prohibition against eating flesh. “A
certain butcher one day bought three buffaloes one of which he killed.
One night he began suddenly to bellow like cattle, and for a whole day
remained insensible. His family in alarm called a doctor, who
prescribed medicine to revive him. His family, on his recovering his
senses, inquired what was the occasion of his acting thus? He answered
that he saw in his dream the two buffaloes not yet killed suddenly
begin to speak like men; one of them said: ‘I am your father;’ and the
other said: ‘I am your grand-father.’ In a short time they became in
appearance like men, and on looking carefully at them, said he, ‘I saw
that they were really my father and my grandfather.’ The butcher was so
painfully affected by these circumstances that he sent the two cattle
away to the country, and changed his calling.”
As an illustration of the every-day belief in dreams which comes under
the observation of the least curious foreign resident in Chinese, I
subjoin two stories which have within the last few months appeared in a
Shanghai and Hongkong journal respectively. The first relates to the
old, old subject—the discovery of treasure. “The other night a
gentleman named Chang (Anglice Smith) went to bed and had a very
remarkable dream. He thought that he was in a particular spot at the
back of a certain temple in Shanghai city, and that there he came upon
a hidden treasure of gold. On awaking he was so much impressed with the
vivid nature of the dream that he immediately sprang out of bed,
shouldered a pickaxe and wended his way to the enchanted spot. Upon
reaching his destination he fell to work, and sure enough had not far
to dig before he came upon a box containing five hundred taels’ weight
of gold, and—so runs the story—all marked with the magic name of Chang!
Of course proprietorship was indisputable, and lucky Mr. Chang trotted
home a richer and a happier man.”
The other story appeared a very short time since in the China Mail, and
the facts came within the writer’s personal knowledge. Some time ago, a
junk sailed from Hoifoong, containing a number of coolies for the
barracoons of Macao. Having arrived there, the live cargo was quickly
disposed of, and the Captain received as freight something over $1,000.
This incited the helmsman and some of the crew to league themselves
with two piratical junks to attack the boat and to rob the Captain of
the money. Two or three days after, the junk left Macao on her way back
to Hoifoong. On the voyage, near Chang Chow, the two pirates hove in
sight, and the helmsman steered closed up to them, when the pirates
boarded the junk, killed the Captain and threw him overboard. Here
comes the mysterious part of the story. The master of the Luk Kee
barracoon one night dreamed a dream, in which he saw the ghost of the
murdered man before him, saying he had been murdered, that he was
robbed of his money, and that he wished the barracoon master to
complain and try to obtain redress for him, which he thought would not
be difficult, as the pirates were sailing off Chang Chow. On the
strength of this dream, the barracoon master complained to the
Portuguese authorities, who sent out a gunboat, and the pirates were
found at the spot indicated by the ghost. The crew of the attacked junk
(who had come to Hongkong since the robbery) immediately went to Macao;
one of them was the brother of the deceased and had been cut in several
places. Whether there was any truth in the statement of the appearance
of the ghost or not, the facts of the robbery and capture were correct.
Here there was nothing mysterious in the fact of a friend of the junk
captain dreaming that a very common contingency in Canton waters had
actually occurred. Nor was it very strange that he should hit upon the
most likely place to find the pirates. The Chinese however, especially
in psychological matters, are not very keen in connecting cause with
effect, and the lucky dreamer enjoys to this day the reputation of
having been specially favoured by the Goddess of Sailors.
It does not appear that Chinese soothsayers, like their Western
prototypes, divide dreams into distinct categories, or, to put it more
accurately, that the fortune-telling books in circulation amongst the
people agree in any standard of division. There is, however, a sort of
natural order followed, as all such warnings may be divided into three
classes,—those which portend good fortune, those which portend evil,
and those to which no precise signification can be affixed. A very
interesting paper on the subject of dreams recently appeared in the
Japan Mail; [69] and from this it would appear that in many respects
Chinese and Japanese beliefs are alike, though the latter people, true
to their national character, have evinced a much greater talent for
classification than their older rivals. Amongst good portents, in
Chinese belief, are dreams of mounting upwards to the skies, meeting
genii, or persons celebrated for their positions or acquirements, and
of being present at convivial parties. To dream that one sees bats,
turtles or tortoises, or that one is wounded by robbers (provided blood
be not drawn) is also of good augury. These are also portents of good
fortune to the Japanese; but while the latter consider that to dream of
wearing new clothes or of having ulcers on the face is a sign of
prosperity, these are both taken to augur impending ill fortune in
China. [70] Of evil auguries common to the two countries are dreams of
eating fruit, of breaking mirrors, or of seeing ants crawling over the
house matting; to dream of the “sun or moon shedding tears of blood” is
a sign of the approaching death of a parent; while to dream of having
one’s teeth pulled out implies impending unfriendliness on the part of
relatives, and to dream of eating pears is an emblem of family broils.
In both countries bad dreams should not be talked about at once—in
China, until the morning meal has been taken, and in Japan until the
mouth has been rinsed with water and ejected facing the East, an
incantation being at the same time ejaculated. To dream of a bear is in
China a sign that the dreamer will have a son; of a snake that he or
she will have a daughter; while the appearance in a dream of a white
mouse indicates the presence of treasure at the place where the animal
is seen. Yet we must not be too hard on our Eastern friends. A half
superstitious belief in the prophetic nature of dreams lingers
throughout Europe, and a few decades will doubtless find China and
Japan as generally incredulous of its existing beliefs in such matters
as we assume to be ourselves.
V.—CHARMS, SPELLS, AMULETS AND DIVINATIONS.
The subjects to be dealt with under the above heading afford an
embarras de richesses. Next to the belief in the prophetic nature of
dreams none probably is more widespread than that in charms and kindred
matters. The ancient British Druids attempted to cure the generality of
diseases by charms and incantations, [71] and the so-called Doctors of
modern China follow a similar custom hallowed by a still greater
antiquity. But in addition to these, the universal belief in the
influence of demons and evil spirits upon the every-day life of mortals
has led to the devising of such numerous preservatives that the makers
and vendors of such wares find constant employment. I propose to deal
in the first instance with charms involving a certain amount of
preparation, classing articles worn about the person under the head of
amulets.
The superstitious regard paid to mirrors as regards their preservative
qualities has been noticed in a previous chapter. This probably arises
from the fact that in China they are regarded as all-efficacious
household charms against the attacks of evil spirits. Nor are magic
mirrors, similar in their use to the ink mirrors employed by modern
Egyptian necromancers, unknown to the Chinese. At Canton, only a year
or two since, a native was exhibiting for the small sum of 30 cash
(about 2½d.) a jewel stated to possess magical qualities. In it the
curious spectator saw various figures such as a beggar, a mandarin, a
woman, &c., and was assured that his or her own future condition would
be the same as that of the counterfeit thus seen. There exists a belief
in many parts of the Empire that the pointed roof or corner of a
house’s gable end may exert an unpleasant influence upon the dwelling
in nearest proximity. To counteract this therefore a concave brass
mirror—those of glass are still articles de luxe in most districts—set
in a wooden frame, is arranged on the wall or roof of the threatened
building so as to catch and reflect back the evil influences in
question. I can find no trace of any similar practice in Western
countries. Small brass mirrors hung near a bed are also all-efficacious
to ward off evil influences.
It is possible, that, though everybody knows how fire-crackers are used
by the Chinese to frighten off evil spirits, all readers are not aware
that they are charms pure and simple; the original intention of their
manufacture being to imitate the crackling of burning bamboos which
were supposed to frighten away a race of malignant demons called Shan
siao—“beings in human shape, a foot or so in height, and by nature very
fearless,” or according to another account a bird with a nest as big as
a five bushel measure. [72] Mr. W. F. Mayers, in his interesting
article on gunpowder and firearms in China, in the Journal of the N. C.
B. R. A. S. for 1869–70, ingeniously suggests that these demons are but
the embodiment of the supernatural agency visible in the attacks of
fever and ague to which the inhabitants of the swampy regions of
Western China were, and still are, liable. I quote his remarks: “The
Chinese themselves do not appear to have pursued any investigation
respecting the origin or meaning of the term Shan siao, but, guided by
the date of its appearance in literature and its foreign garb, we may
with some confidence, ascribe the belief in this demon to an Indian
parentage. As regards the myth itself, it may be permitted to hazard
the speculation that fever and ague, lurking as it did and still does
in the swampy regions of Western China, may, by a very familiar
process, have become embodied in the conception of a supernatural
agency, and that the fires which native wisdom or foreign counsel might
suggest as a prophylactic device may have been invested with magical
attributes, either by teachers who thought it best to fortify sanitary
precautions with a cloak of fetishism, or else by the inherited
tradition of succeeding ages. However this may be, the idea of
exorcism, dating as far back as the sixth century, has remained
inseparably connected with the use of fire-crackers down to the present
day.” And in a note on the same page the writer adds that subsequently
to an execution taking place at Canton in 1868 in a public square, the
inhabitants of the locality were not satisfied until they had exorcised
the ghost of the departed criminal by a protracted discharge of
crackers. It is not difficult to trace a similar motive in the custom
which obtains of honouring the departure of a popular resident in any
place, in a similar manner. The crackers are to frighten away all
demons from the traveller. Such a compliment is frequently paid to
foreigners by their Chinese acquaintances in Hongkong. It may, I think,
be taken as certain that crackers are charms pure and simple to the
Chinese, their use as mere noise-producing fireworks being secondary to
the idea of exorcism.
Charms of another sort are sometimes used by the Chinese. It is only
three years since that H. E. Li Hung Chang, who is at this moment
premier of China, fired cannon at the Peiho to make it cease inundating
the surrounding country. [73] The Eagre or bore of the Tsien Tang
river, which flows from the boundaries of Kiang-si, Fuhkien and
Chih-keang to Hang-chow Bay, and takes its name “money-dyke” from the
amount expended on its embankments, [74] has been treated with “charms”
on several occasions, but as Chinese annals tell us, with very
indifferent success. Prince Wu Shu (A.D. 930) made five hundred “daring
archers” let fly six arrows apiece at the dreaded tidal wave as it came
rolling onwards, and then after praying to Wu Tsz-si, the tutelary
deity of the stream, put the key of the dyke water gate into an
envelope, and threw it into the river. Forthwith the waters retired;
but as they would have retired in the ordinary course of events, even
the Chinese did not consider the experiment a remarkable success. In
1131 the Emperor Kan Tsung sunk ten iron plates, each weighing over 130
lbs., in the river by way of charming the mischievous spirits of the
waters, but charms and embankments were alike carried off by the
resistless power of the tide. Experience however was not availed of in
a case where superstition had firm hold, and time and time again was a
similar experiment tried—with, I need hardly say, similar success. Such
practices, however, have not been quite unknown amongst ourselves, and
even at the present day there are many springs in rural Britain
supposed to be guarded by spirits who require charming in a very
similar way. The crooked pins cast into St. Winifred’s well in North
Wales, the fourpenny pieces cast into that of Gwern Degla, the rags and
clothes thrown into those of Strathfillan and Kenethmont in Scotland,
and Benton (near Newcastle-upon-Tyne), and the common offering of three
stones as a tribute to the spirit of the stream in Unst (Shetland),
are, like the nosegays thrown into wells and fountains in honour of
their presiding nymphs at the Roman fontinalia, or the cakes of
bread-corn similarly offered of old to Juno in Laconia, evidences of a
belief not at all unlike that which prompts Chinese acts of a similar
nature.
The anti-demoniacal power ascribed to the wood and leafy branches of
certain trees in our own folklore is matched by a similar Chinese
belief. The elder, the rowan, the yew, and the mountain ash of rural
England, or the palasa (a species of mimosa) of India, are represented,
in the Middle Kingdom, by the bamboo, peach and willow, which are
regarded as peculiarly powerful over goblins and imps. The dry Bamboo
is supposed to attract devils. On the other hand a rod of green bamboo
is carried at funerals by nearly-related mourners for a contrary
purpose. It is called the “dog-driving rod,” and is supposed to be
efficacious in driving away evil spirits who might stop the way of the
departed. The willow is used both to drive away and to raise spirits,
but in the former case a twig only must be used. The plum tree is also
regarded as possessing mysterious virtues in the same direction, but is
not thought equal to the willow. Two other plants are also supposed to
be efficacious against evil spirits, and one of them, the Fo yeung lak
火殃䓶 is at Canton hung over door-ways to prevent them from entering
houses. We too, formerly put up holly at Christmas with a similar
object, though it has now become a mere decoration, and there was a
pretty Druidical superstition that the Sylvan spirits would take refuge
in the evergreen branches from the chill winds and snows proper to the
season. [75] It would be interesting to trace the superstitions
connected with trees somewhat further, but I have not sufficient
authorities at command.
Of the charms affixed to buildings, etc., the Chinese have a fair
variety. The all-potent horseshoe is indeed not found nailed against
doors and gables; but, oddly enough, a horse’s hoof hung up in a house
[76] has the same preservative virtues in native eyes. Chinese
reverence for the dead has prevented the adoption of so horrible a
charm as that known in France, Germany, Spain, and Ireland as “the hand
of Glory” or dead man’s hand, consisting actually of the dried hand of
an executed criminal. But a nail that has been used in fastening up a
coffin is a sovereign charm. This is sometimes beaten out into a rod or
wire, and, encased in silver, worn as a ring round the ancles or
wrists. The cat here makes her appearance, a clay image of poor
pussy—with a bob-tail of course, after the Chinese model,—being
frequently placed on the apex of a roof to ward off unpropitious
influences. The conspicuous position thus accorded to the cat as a
warder-off of evil fortune seems oddly paralleled, though not imitated,
by the place accorded to the same animal in popular European folk-lore.
I have already mentioned its evil repute amongst the Chinese as a
harbinger of ill luck, and this agrees closely with the usual Western
estimate, witches and cats being constantly associated, the former
indeed being supposed to take upon themselves the shape of the latter
at will. The old legend that the chariot of the Goddess Freya was drawn
by cats, and that Holda was attended by maidens riding on cats, is
referred by Mr. Kelly to a widespread belief in their weatherwise
powers. In China the cat is supposed to be in league with the spirits
of darkness, and as this includes meteorological prescience, it is
propitiated accordingly, the cat’s image becoming a popular “charm.”
So too those nondescript animals which most people agree to call lions,
and which may be seen keeping guard in such disconsolate attitudes on
the roofs of most native buildings of importance, are mere charms. The
Chinaman in fact, from his cradle upwards, seems to regard himself as
ever environed by diabolical agencies, to combat which an all-pervading
system of charms and amulets is a prime necessity. While we laugh at
this superstition, it is perhaps only a too vivid realisation of the
fact of the devil “going about like a roaring lion.” It may be
interesting to note here that our own custom of depositing coins,
papers, &c., in the foundation stones of new buildings is matched by a
similar custom in China. I am unable to trace the superstitious origin
of the practice in our own case, but the Chinese place coins under the
door-sill and under the kitchen fireplace, when building, simply for
luck. In some cases, following out the usual notion of contrariety,
these and other charms are attached to the ridge pole of the building.
“Cash-swords,” a very common form of charm, are thus described: “What
is commonly called a Cash-sword is considered very efficacious in
keeping away evil spirits. It is often hung up on the front and the
outside of the bridal bed-curtain, in a position parallel to the
horizon. About the time of a woman’s confinement, a cash-sword is
sometimes taken and hung inside of the curtain. This sword is usually
about two feet long, and is constructed out of three kinds of things,
each of which is regarded as a preventive of evil spirits: 1st. Two
iron rods, about two feet long, constitute the foundation of the sword.
2d. About one hundred cash, either ancient or modern (if ancient, or if
all of the same emperor’s reign, so much the better), are ingeniously
fastened on these rods, concealing them from view. The rods are placed
in the centre, and the coins are tied on the outside in two rows. 3d.
Red cords or wires are used in tying on the cash. These three kinds,
joined together in the shape of a sword, make a really formidable
weapon, of which the maliciously-disposed spirits are exceedingly
afraid!” [77]
Another charm of extensive use amongst Chinese women is a small solid
silver or golden triangle, having two little swords suspended from the
outer angles and a trident from the centre of the base; on the triangle
itself lucky characters are engraved. This shape appears to be a
favorite one, as women always fold their written charms in a similar
manner, and sew them up in pieces of cloth of a triangular pattern.
The idea of an evil eye is no less common amongst the native population
out here than it was and still is in Europe; and this belief,
implicitly accepted as regards their own countrymen, is intensified as
regards foreigners, owing to the outrageous stories circulated about us
during recent excitements. I have often been amused in the North at the
request not to stare at any child whose interesting appearance might
have attracted my attention. In writing letters the Chinese invoke the
person addressed, to cast a glance on the epistle “with the clear part
of his eye” (or, as we should say, white of the eye) that is, take a
favourable view of the matter talked of. A pregnant woman or a man
whose wife is pregnant, is called “four-eyed,” and children are guarded
against being looked at by either, as it is thought the sight would be
unlucky to the children and would cause sickness to attack them. The
superstition as to the powers of an “evil eye” may almost be deemed
fundamental to humanity, as I have yet to read of a people amongst whom
it does not find some degree of credence.
One of the commonest diagrams to be met with throughout China is the
mystic swastika or “Thor’s Hammer” 卐 (pronounced wan in Chinese and
given as the archaic form of 萬). It is all-pervading, meeting the eye
in all sorts of places, on the wrappers of medicines and sweetmeats,
the stomachs or chests of idols, and the flanks of animals, upon dead
walls, coins, etc. Dr. Eitel gives a most interesting account of this
symbol in the 3rd volume of Notes and Queries on China and Japan. [78]
It is ordinarily accepted as “the accumulation of lucky signs
possessing ten thousand virtues, being one of the 65 mystic figures
[79] which are believed to be traceable in every one of the famous
foot-prints of Buddha. This of course stamps its Buddhistic origin so
far as the Chinese are concerned. Apropos of this symbol, known by us
as the fylfot, a recent review of Mr. Waring’s Ceramic Art in Remote
Ages says:—“Another form of the cross which Mr. Waring has collected
very completely is the fylfot. By some this is thought to be only a
sort of Greek fret or meander pattern; but the evidence of its having
been a symbol in past times of mystic significance is too strong to
allow of its being reduced to a mere ornament. It has been identified
with the Hammer of Thor, the Zeus or Thunderer of the Scandinavians.
With the Buddhists this cross had the very opposite signification from
that of the tau of the Egyptians or the cross of the Christians.
General Cunningham is quoted, who says:—‘The atheistical Swastikas
received their name from their peculiar symbol, the Swastika, or Mystic
Cross, which was typical of their belief in Swasti. This term is a
compound of ‘su,’ well, ‘asti,’ it is, meaning ‘it is well;’ or, as
Wilson expresses it, ‘so be it,’ and implying complete resignation
under all circumstances.’... To Mr. Waring’s collection of facts
regarding the Swastika, or fylfot, it may be added that a Hindoo woman,
when she cleans out her simple cottage, and washes over the earthen
floor with a thin coating of mud and cow-dung—the latter having, as
coming from the cow, which is sacred, a highly purifying virtue—she
usually forms the figure of a Swastika on the door-step. In the woman’s
mind it is supposed to be an efficacious charm to keep away evil from
the house. Along with the fylfot we have the very similar figure of the
three legs which we associate with the Isle of Man. Mr. Waring’s book
gives us many examples of this symbol. In some cases they are legs, but
oftener they are merely three obtuse angles, or curves. This is also
found in many parts of the world, as well as some examples which are
given with five or six limbs. In such cases it is suggestive of a
wheel; and there are a number of Buddhist symbols not unlike to these,
which are understood to represent the ‘Wheel of the Law,’ or the Wheel
of Buddha. It may be stated that a three-limbed figure of this kind is
much used in the Punjaub, and other parts of India, by the Mohajin
log—the banking or moneyed class—as a charm; they place it in their
houses, and generally over the door.” But Dr. Eitel makes a yet more
interesting contribution to the subject in pointing out that
Scandinavians, Danes, Germans and Englishmen still attach superstitious
importance to this magic charm of their heathen forefathers, and of the
Chinese Buddhists of to-day. To the present time the hammer of Thor is
used amongst the German peasantry, and in Ireland, as a magical sign to
dispel thunder. [80] The same symbol was frequently cast on bells
during the Middle Ages, and many of them still bear this mark. Dr. E.
mentions those of Appleby and Scotherne, Waldingham, Bishop’s Norton
and West Barkwith in Lincolnshire, Hathersage in Derbyshire, Maxborough
in Yorkshire, and many more. That this symbol should thus be common to
Buddhistic and Scandinavian mythology argues a common fount in ages
long gone by; before the Aryan races had commenced their Westward
wanderings or the Shang dynasty had ceased to reign in China—coeval in
fact with Cadmus, the reputed father of Western letters.
The use of the Pa-kwa or “Eight diagrams”—a collection of strokes
arranged in hexagonal form and familiar to the merest tyro in Chinese
studies—as a charm to ward off evil influences, is universal. It is
made of all sizes and shapes, from large ones on boards one or two feet
square, down to tiny medals for personal wear not larger than a
sixpence. In the centre is the diagram of the Yang and Yin (male and
female principle), or sometimes a concave metal or glass mirror.
Coarsely executed boards of this description are placed perpendicularly
on the highest part of the roof. More neatly carved specimens are hung
up in rooms. Go where one will, the inevitable pa kwa, carved, painted
or written, is almost sure to ornament some portion of the premises. On
some houses again will be seen “three arrows placed in an earthen tube,
and laid on the side of the roof, the tube pointing towards some
distant object—the arrows being fastened in their places by clay.”
Sometimes the representation of a lad sitting on a three-legged
nondescript animal, with a bow in his hands, as if on the act of
shooting an arrow, takes the place of or accompanies the other objects
described. [81]
Stone slabs or pillars erected near the entrances of alleys leading
into a main street, are supposed to ward off the evil influences
proceeding from them. Mr. Doolittle states that in Foochow every family
on the first day of the Chinese month nails up a few leaves of the
sweet flag (acorus gramineus) and artemisia on each side of the front
doorway. They are held to represent swords, and so scare away evil
spirits! Other charms, not personal, in Chinese use, are red cloth worn
in the pockets, or red silk braided into the hair of children; a knife
that has been used to kill a fellow-creature; the Chinese Classics
placed under the pillow or kept near the owner; knife-cash cast for the
purpose and attached to the ridgepole; pieces of old fishing nets, of
which demons are said to be especially afraid as they suppose them to
be used by the priests to catch spirits; and gourd shells, which it is
supposed will attract to their interior such diseases as small-pox,
measles, &c., which might otherwise attack children. Images or drawings
of tigers, lizards, snakes, centipedes, &c.—the list is almost
inexhaustible—have similar virtues, more especially guarding children
from colic and other infantile diseases.
Most people are acquainted with the cant expression about “taking a
hair of the dog that bit you,” now-a-days applied by those, who have
drank too much overnight, to the morning glass supposed to re-steady
the shaken nerves, but originating in a superstition common to both
Europe and China. The idea on which it is based is that of the sympathy
which a part of the body has with the whole. Thus a dog’s virus being
powerless on its own body, a person will by swallowing one of its hairs
enjoy the immunity possessed by the animal it came from. In Devonshire
we find the idea oddly reversed, as, when a child suffers from hooping
cough, a hair from its head is put between slices of bread and butter
and given to a dog, who thereupon, it is believed, gets the cough
instead of the child. [82] In the same country it is supposed that you
can give a neighbour ague, by burying a dead man’s hair under his
threshold. [83] The fact of a dog’s hair possessing mystic powers, in
Chinese Hakka [84] belief, is illustrated by the following incident
related to me by a distinguished sinologue in this Colony.
While on his missionary tours in the Canton province he was usually
accompanied by a powerful dog, at which, in some of the villages he
passed through, the children were somewhat frightened and once or twice
very slightly bitten. In such a case the mother would run after him and
beg for a hair from the dog’s tail, as a charm against the evil one.
The hair thus obtained would be put to the part bitten in the belief
that the spirit which the fright suffered by the child had caused to
pass into his person, would thereby be attracted from it.
My informant used sometimes, jokingly, to say to the applicant, “Oh!
take a hair from the dog yourself,” but not liking his looks, this
offer was usually declined, and the alternative suggested brings into
notice another curiously wide-spread superstition. He was asked to spit
in her hand, as a charm against evil. Now the virtues claimed for this
not very cleanly proceeding by the Chinese found a thorough belief
amongst the ancients, which survives to this day amongst the lower
classes in England. Brand gives a most interesting chapter on this
subject. [85] The Roman custom of lustrating an infant by spittle on
the day of its being named, that of the Mandingoes who spit thrice in
the child’s face on the same occasion, and the custom of fishwomen at
home who still “spit upon their handsel,” or the first money they take
in the day, all point to the same belief as that entertained by the
Hakkas. There is still a rural English belief that spitting three times
in a person’s face is a charm against the evil eye. The Hebrew belief
in the mystic properties of saliva is said to be of considerable
antiquity, and we find our Saviour on two occasions (St. John ix. 6 and
Mark vii. 33) using it in curing the blind.
“Characts,” or written charms, are as common in China as in Europe. We
settle the origin of our own former confidence in their efficacy by a
somewhat off-hand reference to the Jewish phylactery—a derivation I am
inclined to doubt—but we have nothing that I know of to guide us in
finding the root of the Chinese superstition. However that may be, the
fact that written charms have ever been deemed efficacious, wherever
the art of writing is known, is curious. Not a very long time ago the
still warm body of a deceased male child was picked up in the streets
of Hongkong, having affixed to its cap one of these charms, which had
evidently been sold to the parents by one of the itinerant
fortune-tellers who infest the city. It was kindly placed at my
disposal by the Coroner, and a facsimile of it is given on the opposite
page.
It is almost untranslateable, but if you bear in mind that the Chinese
words refer to horary or astrological terms, the following will give
you some idea of what it meant. The paper refers to an infant born in
the yam shan year (1872), 2nd moon, 17th day, at noon; the character
for “left” appended to the date signifies that the child is a male,
that for right signifying a female.
“Being born in the yam shan year, kwai mou month and kap ng hour, the
child is subject to the combined influence of these dates. Under yam
shan it will be adverse to the influence of koon (officials) [that is
an indication of evil], but will find powerful friends. He will have
brothers who will impoverish him. According to the portents under the
character kwai mou, he will always have plenty to eat and great wealth.
Under Sun mi he will meet with counter influences from an evil spirit.
Kap ng indicates that he will meet with good influences indicating
wealth and powerful friends, but these good influences will be
counteracted by an evil spirit.
“For 3 years, the first epoch under prediction, his fate is good.
Thence to the age of 13, the first five years will be bad, the second
five good; from 14 to 25 the first five years will be bad, the second
very bad; from 26 to 33, five years will be bad, the latter five very
good; thence to 43, good and very good fortune will be his fate. For
five years after this his fate will be good, continuing till his death,
which will happen before he is 53.
“The life of this child indicates purity and prosperity. His good
fortune lies in being born at the hour of noon, as this indicates
powerful friends and other good influences. His future life will be one
of bliss, but he ought to adopt the Kum-fa goddess, in the municipal
temple, as his spiritual mother. In selecting a name for him some
character should be chosen having To, earth, as a component part. It
will then be lucky. The date fixed for shaving the child should be the
18th day of the 3rd moon from 9 to 10 a.m. The child should be a year
old before he is vaccinated.”
So much for this written charm;—sad rubbish no doubt, but not much
worse than the whining predictions of gypsy crones in enlightened
Europe, and harmful chiefly in the widespread belief attached to its
value.
The charm here given was written on red paper, that colour being
supposed to be peculiarly obnoxious to evil spirits. Hence the red
cloth and silken twist already noted. But charms on yellow paper are
quite as numerous. Yellow is the Imperial colour, one of the five
recognized in the Chinese cosmogony, and a superstitious value attaches
to its use. “Sometimes a picture of an idol is printed or written upon
this paper, or some Chinese characters, or various scrolls, are drawn
on the paper with red or black ink. It is then pasted up over a door or
on a bed-curtain, or it is worn in the hair, or put into a red bag and
suspended from a button-hole, or it is burnt, and the ashes are mingled
with tea or hot water, and drank as a specific against bad influences
or spirits. An incredible number of these charms are used in the
various ways indicated. Many houses have eight or ten or more on the
front side or under the eaves. Immense numbers are burnt in idolatrous
or superstitious ceremonies.” [86] Similar charms are hung upon
bed-curtains, placed upon the ridge poles of houses, and hung over
door-ways. The veneration entertained for the written character in
China is doubtless partially owing to the superstitious belief in the
protective nature of written charms. The Biblical, or at all events
Talmudical, authority for the use of Phylacteries seems to have
indirectly produced a somewhat similar effect amongst the Hebrews.
Brand gives numerous instances of the belief in written charms in
England, and a gypsy charact, sold within the last few years, has come
under the present writer’s personal observation. In this case, as in
all others, it may be truly said, that the more we enquire the less do
we find to be the divergence between Chinese and Western beliefs and
superstitions.
But amulets and charms worn about the person are, perhaps, even greater
objects of importance in Chinese estimation than household or other
charms. Retaining as we do the words, now applied to harmless trinkets
worn on the watch-chain, [87] we are apt to forget the deep
significance attached to them by our forefathers, and to somewhat
unduly ignore the influence which a belief in their virtues once
exercised over our own ancestors, and still exercises over people like
the Chinese. I may here note that small trinkets, believed to be
veritable amulets, are worn by the well-to-do Chinese just as among
ourselves. The most popular form of charm is, both in China and
England, a piece of money. Most boys have treasured a “lucky fourpenny”
with a hole in it, and most Chinese babies have been the unconscious
owners of “lucky cash” attached to them by a red string and bearing
certain lucky characters inscribed on them. The cash chosen for this
purpose are, as a rule, ancient. The older the cash the greater its
virtue. Sometimes coins of this sort are tied on the wrists of a
new-born child and worn by it for a considerable time. Similarly a
number of cash belonging to the reigns of different Emperors are placed
under the bed of a newly-married couple. Collectors of old coins
frequently come across curious specimens of the numismatic art produced
for this purpose, metals generally in China being favourite substances
for amulets. One of the commonest amulets given to an only son is a
small silver lock. The father collects a number of cash from the heads
of a large number—strictly speaking a hundred—different families, and
having exchanged them for silver has the latter converted into a native
padlock which is used to fasten a silver chain or ring on the boy’s
neck. [88] This it is supposed will be respected by evil spirits, and
will therefore contribute to the boy’s longevity. Another popular
amulet is made in the shape of a flattish silver hook with some
fortunate inscription thereon. But most common of all are the little
bells worn by the Chinese child of every degree in the Southernmost
provinces and, more sparingly, used in the North also. The origin of
the custom as regards Canton has been already given. But a belief in
the occult qualities of bells is so wide-spread [89] that considerable
doubt may reasonably exist whether, even if the legend be true, the
Cantonese did not merely amplify an existing practice by way of
appeasing the Demon of the bell. It is at all events strange that our
own ancestors should have credited bells with possessing occult powers
to aid mankind in their combat with the spirits of darkness, while the
Chinese propitiate the same enemies by wearing models of bells upon
their clothes. But a yet more odd coincidence is found in the sixty-six
bells attached to the Ephod of the Jewish High priest when engaged in
sacerdotal ministration. [90] At the present day we give bells to
babies mounted on a piece of coral—itself a celebrated charm since the
days of Pliny, by whom it is noted as an amulet against fascination and
able to preserve and fasten the teeth. Few substances, by the way,
except metal are used by the Chinese as amulets, jade being almost the
only exception. [91] It would be interesting to ascertain whether the
ear-ring was ever regarded in China, as by the Semitic races, as a sort
of amulet or charm.
Divination is in China as popular as, and probably more respectable
than, it was amongst the Israelites in the days of the witch of Endor,
and it is not perhaps going too far to say that there is not a single
means resorted to in the West by way of lifting the impenetrable veil
which hides the future from curious mankind which is not known to and
practised by the Chinese. From “Pinking the Bible” to using the
Planchette, from tossing for odd and even to invoking spirits to
actually speak through crafty media, the whole range of Western
superstition in this regard is as familiar to the average Chinaman as
to the most enthusiastic spiritualist at home. The coincidences of
practice and belief are indeed so startling that many will doubtless
see in them a sort of evidence either for their truthfulness, or for a
common origin of evil. Divination by the ka pui has been already noted,
together with that by bamboo slips. Cash and many other objects are
similarly used, the mode of procedure in no way differing from our own.
Such modes of consulting the gods are, however, every-day matters. It
is when we come to the consulting of media, the use of a forked stick,
writing on sand, and similar matters that the Chinese practice becomes
singular in its resemblance to superstitions openly avowed at home. I
would here remark that I am no spiritualist. But how, without any
apparent connection with each other, such beliefs should at once be
found in full force in the farthest East and the extreme West is
puzzling. Is our Western spiritualism derived from China?
It is only within the last ten years that the attention of English
readers has been markedly drawn to this strange agreement of Chinese
with Western belief and practice—in the first instance, [92] by the
Rev. J. Doolittle, in a series of papers contributed originally to the
China Mail and subsequently published in book form in 1867; and in the
same and following years, more exhaustively, in Notes and Queries on
China and Japan, by the Rev. E. J. Eitel, PH.D., whose thorough and
scholarly papers on Chinese matters render him a high authority.
Readers of that now defunct periodical will doubtless, in consideration
of the papers in question being out of print and unknown to the
majority of the British public, pardon my here transferring Dr. Eitel’s
remarks almost verbatim; the more so as any original account I could
give would be but a mere variation in language:—
“A certain form of spirit-rapping is practised among the officials and
literary classes of China. A spirit is sometimes made to appear, to
communicate by writing revelations about the future, and questions are
answered as regards the lucky or unlucky result of intended
transactions, about success at impending examinations, about progeny to
be expected, and so forth. The pencil to be used by the spirit must be
made from the twig of a peach-tree. But this twig should be cut off a
branch pointing towards the East, and before cutting the twig the
following magic formula consisting of four lines (with four syllables
each) has to be pronounced: ‘Magic pencil most efficacious, daily
possessing subtle strength, now I take thee, to reveal clearly
everything.’ [93] After the recitation of this formula, a compound
character is to be carved into the back of the tree. This character is
composed of two radicals, of which the upper one signifies water from
clouds; the lower one means demon, which indicates that the spirit to
be conjured up resides in the clouds. The other characters [94] ‘the
mysteries of Heaven wondrously mastered’ refer to the revelations which
the pencil is expected to communicate under the direction of the
spirit. When this compound character has been cut into the bark of the
peach-tree, a twig from one of its eastern branches, which moreover
must have a little curvature at its end in the form of a hook, is cut
off and fitted into a small piece of wood of about six inches length,
which is intended for being laid on the palms of the medium acting at
the ceremony. Every one who intends to witness it, has to purify
himself by fasting and ablutions and to dress in perfectly clean
clothes. In the hall where the ceremony is to take place two long
tables are placed together. On the upper table sacrifices are placed,
consisting of wine, fruit and confectionery, while the other table is
to be covered with fine red sand, which should be rolled even and
smooth by a small bamboo-roller, so that characters can be traced in
the sand without difficulty. All these preparations should be finished
before night-fall, when a petition to the Great Royal Bodhisattwa [95]
is to be written on a card, informing this Deity that sacrifices are
prepared, and requesting that one of the great spirits wandering
through the clouds [96] should be sent to the house of the petitioner
whose name and address is mentioned minutely to prevent any mistake.
This card, together with a quantity of gold paper, is conveyed to the
temple of the above-mentioned Deity, and burnt before the idol’s
shrine. On returning to his own house the petitioner writes his
address, as given on that card, on a slip of paper which he pastes on
one of the door-posts.
“Later in the evening two or three of the company assembled go to the
door, burn there some gold paper and make then an indefinite number of
bows and prostrations, receiving as it were the spirit on entering the
house. Having conducted him into the hall, an arm-chair is moved to the
table whilst incense and candles are lighted. At the same time the
medium approaches, the handle of the magic pencil resting on the palms
of both hands, but so that the end of the twig touches the surface of
the table strewn with sand. He places his out-spread hands near the
head of the table and addressing the spirit with becoming reverence
says: ‘Great spirit, if you have arrived, be pleased to write the
character “arrived” on this table.’ Immediately the magic pencil begins
to move and the required character appears legibly written in the sand,
whereupon all assembled request the spirit to sit on the large
arm-chair, whilst the Deity, that is supposed to have conducted him
thither, is likewise politely asked to sit down on another chair. The
whole company now bow and prostrate themselves before the seats of both
spirits, and some pour out wine and burn gold paper. Then the medium
approaches again with the magic pencil on the palms of his hands,
whilst all assembled say with one voice: ‘Great spirit, what was your
august surname, what your honourable name, what offices were you
invested with, and under which dynasty did you live on earth?’
Immediately the magic pencil is seen moving and answers to these
questions appear written in the sand. After this every one of the
assembled may put a question one after the other, but each question is
to be written on a slip of paper and burnt together with some gold
paper. As soon as each paper is fairly consumed by the fire, the magic
pencil writes down the answer to it, generally in poetical form, and
each sentence is followed by the character [97] ‘I have done,’
whereupon the pencil ceases to move. Then all assembled try to read the
characters aloud. If they fail to decipher them, the pencil moves again
and writes the same sentence more distinctly, until it is intelligible.
As soon as one of the assembly succeeds in deciphering a sentence, the
magic pencil moves again and writes on the sand the two characters [98]
‘that’s it.’ When a sentence is finished in this way, the sand on the
table has to be smoothed again with a bamboo-roller, and whilst this is
being done the whole company address flattering speeches to the spirit,
praising his poetical talents, to which the magic pencil replies by
writing on the table the characters [99] ‘it’s ridiculous.’ If any one
present behaves improperly, displaying a want of reverence, the spirit
writes down some sentences containing a sharp rebuke. The motions of
the pencil are quite extraordinary and apparently not produced by the
medium on whose open palms the handle of the pencil rests, and who
merely follows the spontaneous movements of the magic pencil. In this
way conversation is kept up without flagging until midnight (when the
male principle begins to be active). Then the spirit breaks off the
conversation and addressing the whole company writes on the table:
‘Gentlemen, I am much obliged for your liberal presents, but now I must
beg leave to depart.’ [100] To this all persons present reply saying:
‘Please, great spirit, stop a little longer,’ but the spirit jots down
as if in a great hurry the two characters [101] ‘excuse me, I am off.’
Then all assembled say, ‘If there was any want of respect or attention,
great spirit, we beseech thee forgive us this sin.’ All walk then to
the house-door burning gold-paper, and there take leave of the spirit
with many bows and prostrations.
“I proceed now to point out another form of spiritualism by which more
especially the lower classes of Chinese society allow themselves to be
blinded. There are somnambules in China, [102] and no matter whether
they be real clairvoyants under the influence of animal magnetism, or
merely clever impostors, they are at least in the South of China
everywhere to be found, enjoying the entire confidence of the mass of
the people, and holding a position very much like that of the witch at
Endor who conjured up Samuel before Saul, or like those priests in the
temple of Pluto and Cora at Acharaca, who used to prescribe to their
patients the remedies revealed to them in their dreams; in some
respects also like those oracles which were obtained at the lake
Aornos, and in which those consulted called up the spirits of the dead
(see Smith, Dict. of Antiquities, on Oracles). The fact is that, at
least as far as I am aware, somnambulism in China is generally made
subservient to necromancy. The Chinese mind is so deeply impressed with
the stability of family ties, that even death is not considered as
separating a man or woman from their respective families, and it is,
therefore, the common belief of the people that the ancestors of each
family, though living in Hades, are continually watching the interests
and welfare of all their descendants that live on earth. Consequently
if a family be in great distress on account of the severe illness of
some one of its members, or in doubt with regard to the advisability of
an intended marriage, or anxious to know if a certain site chosen for a
tomb would ensure rest and peace to the soul of a deceased relative,—on
each of these subjects the Chinese feel a craving desire to consult the
spirits of their ancestors. Now as the Chinese well know that it is not
so easy to influence those spirits and to induce them to submit to
consultations and cross-examinations, there is a class of people,
chiefly women, who make it their profession to conjure up spirits from
the dead, and to act as the mediums in the consultations to be held
with them. These women are called shang-pʻo in Canton city, whilst in
other parts of the province they are usually known by the name of
sin-pʻo. [103] If there be any family in trouble or anxiety for some
one or other of the reasons mentioned above, a somnambule is sent for.
No preparations are required, no sacrifices are to be offered, except
that some incense sticks are lighted and put into that niche dedicated
to the spirit of the hearth, [104] which may be seen in every Chinese
house in the wall over the cooking range. When the somnambule arrives
at the house, she is received by the female portion of its inmates and
conducted to some quiet back room. No man is allowed to be present,
especially no scholar, and great care is to be taken, that no copy of
the Chinese classics, among which the ‘great learning’ [105] is most
dreaded by the somnambules, should be left lying about in the room. If
any of these precautions are neglected the somnambule will declare it
impossible to hold any conversation with the spirits. When all is ready
she ascertains first the nature of the difficulty under which the
family labours, and the name and sex of the ancestor whose spirit is to
be conjured up. As soon as she has learned these particulars she seats
herself on a low stool and crouches down on it, so that her head rests
on her knees. Then she utters in a low and measured tone the following
incantation:—
‘Ye sisters three—ye ladies four,
‘O! lead me now to Hades’ door!
‘What would ye do in Hades? Speak!
‘My kindred only would I seek—
‘My kindred seek, one word to say.
‘Then quickly lead me back, I humbly pray.’
“This incantation she repeats three times, and soon after she has
spoken it for the third time a sudden change seems to come over her
body. Her arms drop down, her limbs are one after the other seized by a
sort of torpor, convulsions shake her all over, and cold sweat covers
her face and temples. At last she seems fast asleep and now questions
may be put to her. ‘What do you see?’ she may be asked. ‘I see
nothing,’ is the answer, ‘it is all dark and chilly.’ After a while she
is again asked, ‘what do you see now?’ ‘Now,’ she replies, ‘now it is
lighter; yes, at a distance I see pagodas and towers and palaces and
houses.’ ‘Do you see any human being?’ ‘No, I cannot see distinctly;
yes, now I see them, there are men and women with pale sallow
complexions, and one approaches me, speaks to me!’ ‘How is that person
dressed?’ Then the somnambule describes the dress and the whole
appearance of that person, and her description coincides exactly with
all that her employers can remember with regard to the peculiarities in
dress and general appearance of the deceased relative whose spirit is
being conjured up. The identity of the person required being thus
established, questions may now be put as to the particular difficulties
on account of which the family want to consult the spirit of their
ancestor. This spirit, however, is not made to appear, but the
somnambule pretending to see it and to be in conversation with it, acts
as interpreter, and answers all questions in the name of that spirit
and with an unnatural shrill voice. When the curiosity of the audience
has been thus satisfied they try to awake the somnambule by shouting
her name three times into her ears. Soon her body begins to tremble,
one limb after another seems to shake off its torpor, the woman raises
herself up, and goes through all the pantomime of a person suddenly
roused from a heavy sleep, expressing most dramatically an immense
surprise at finding herself in such a place and in such circumstances.
Then the somnambule speedily falls into her professional swagger, asks
for her wages, which, according to the means of her employers, vary
from five cents to five taels or more, and departs chuckling, I
imagine, over the credulity of her deluded victims.
“In conclusion I may remark that the deity to which the above given
incantation is addressed, is supposed to be that popular deity which is
commonly called ‘the seven sisters.’ [106] By some it is considered
identical with the spirit of the Wega in Lyra, [107] by others it is
identified with the spirit of the Pleiades; [108] and this latter
explanation I consider to be most plausible, because the Pleiades are
in Chinese colloquial called ‘the star of the seven ladies.’ [109]”
Another mode of divination employed is by means of a small image carved
out of willow wood (See supra for qualities attributed to this wood).
The medium is in this case also a woman. A recent writer thus describes
the modus operandi: “The image is first exposed to the dew for
forty-nine nights, when after the performance of certain ceremonies it
is believed to have the power of speaking. The image is laid upon the
stomach of the woman to whom it belongs, and she by means of it
pretends to be the medium of communication between the dead and the
living. She sometimes sends the image into the world of spirits to find
the person about whom intelligence is sought; it then changes into an
elf or sprite, and ostensibly departs on its errand. The spirit of the
person enters the image, and gives the information sought after by the
surviving relatives. The woman is supposed not to utter a word, the
message seeming to proceed from the image. The questions are addressed
to the medium, the replies appear to come from her stomach; there is
probably a kind of ventriloquism employed, and the fact that the voice
appears to proceed from the stomach undoubtedly assists the delusion;
any way, there are scores and scores of these mediums implicitly
believed in, and widows who desire to communicate with their deceased
husbands, or people who desire any information about a future state,
invariably resort to their aid.” In Kwang-hsi again there are wizards
who use a magic water called ku-tu. [110] They take this medicine and
smear it on a grain of rice, which they throw away. The natives gravely
believe that if any one is unfortunate enough to touch this grain of
rice, he at once grows ill; his stomach swells, and continues to do so
for a month or so until he at length bursts and out gush, not bowels,
but unboiled rice. If the ku-tu is smeared on straw, the stomach of the
person touching it, in like manner, becomes full of straw!
Mesmerism also has its Chinese votaries. A practice somewhat similar to
our mesmerism and used to gain money by exhibitions on the 5th of the
8th moon, is very common in Canton. The performer reads with the person
operated on certain incantations, chou, [111] whereupon the patient
falls into a mesmeric sleep. During this sleep, he is able, though
never taught the exercise, to go through all sorts of tricks of
fence—the native explanation being that the patients’ soul having
departed from the body, the spirit of a deceased fencing-master
occupies the empty tenement.
Divination by Virgilian, Homeric or Biblical Lots, in which the book
being opened at random the sense of the words covered by the thumb is
held to be prophetic, finds an exact counterpart in a Chinese practice.
The classical works (an odd coincidence, as the two most celebrated of
Western classics give their names to the Sortes Homericæ and Sortes
Virgilianæ) [112] are chiefly availed of for this purpose; but the
Chinese pay more attention to the lucky or unlucky meaning of the
particular characters touched than to the sense of the sentence in
which they occur. Any one even but slightly acquainted with the written
character of the language will easily conceive the vast field it
presents for such purposes. Thus nu, [113] a woman, enters into the
composition of a large member of characters having an evil
signification, and its presence in the word touched is therefore
unlucky. The literary section of the community rather discourage
frivolous appeals to such divinations, but are not above being guided
by them in affairs which they deem important.
I have already referred to the omens deduced from bamboo slips selected
or shaken out at random from a bamboo box. Fortune-tellers and
joss-house keepers divine future events for their credulous clients in
a somewhat similar way. A number of papers are prepared, marked with
characters the same as those on the bamboo slips, but also having short
sentences added indicative of good or ill luck. A slip being thrown
out, the paper containing its character is referred to, and the
sentence inscribed on it is accepted as the answer. Street
fortune-tellers frequently train birds to select one or more from a
heap of papers, each marked with a single ominous character. The
fortune-teller then proceeds to explain the prophetic meaning hidden in
the character thus chosen. Or, if he does not possess a trained bird,
the client himself picks out a paper for similar interpretation. A very
popular form of domestic divination is that already noted as availed of
at the new year—going out into the street and accepting the first words
heard as an omen.
Chiromancy or Divination by Palmistry has its votaries in China as in
Europe, the predictions of our English gypsies being arrived at in very
nearly the same way. The lines in the palm of the hand known as the
“line of life or longevity,” “line of fortune,” “line of the stomach,”
bear similar names in the vocabulary of native chiromancers, the same
line both in China and England being referred to as that of longevity.
A native account says: “The lines indicate whether a man be spendthrift
or the reverse; whether he will be lucky, wealthy, and prosperous, or
attain high position; whether he will have children, their sex, and
whether or not they will survive; and finally whether he will have more
than one wife.” The skin peeling from the palm of the hand (a common
occurrence when a person unused to manual labour performs work which
abrades or blisters the palms) is looked upon as an unlucky omen. The
evil omen attached to white specks on the finger nails has been already
noticed; but there does not appear to exist any practice of divination
by this means such as was formerly practised in England under the name
of Onychomancy or Onymancy. [114] Physiognomy is however much believed
in by the Chinese, and auguries from the countenance—a form of
divination which we all more or less unconsciously adopt, as witness
such phrases as “he looks born to be hanged,” &c.—are frequently drawn
and believed in. The Chinese have a quaint way of dividing off the
facial ages. At 30 years a man is said to have arrived at the epoch of
the eyebrows; at 36 at that of the eyes, and so on, at the epoch of the
nose, lips, cheek, bone, chin, &c.
Finally the “Divination by a green ivie leaf” recorded by an old
writer, [115] in which the health or sickness for the coming twelve
months of the party practising it is divined by the green or black
appearance of a leaf immersed in water for six days, is faintly
paralleled by the ominous virtues attributed by the Chinese to the
leaves of the juniper tree and pumelo plant. No doubt a fuller
investigation than the present writer is able to institute would
elucidate other points of agreement in this class of superstitions. But
enough has been given to shew that the Chinese mind has for ages been
subject to the same influences as obtain amongst ourselves, though
happily in our case (with the exception of spiritualism) now only
surviving amongst the lowest classes of the community.
VI.—SUPERSTITIONS AS TO VARIOUS SUBJECTS.
There are in China a large number of generally believed Superstitions
which it is difficult to class under any of the foregoing heads. The
mysterious properties ascribed to the hare are peculiarly interesting.
A prejudice against eating its flesh is coeval with Chinese history. In
the Erh-ya [116] we find it stated that the people of Yo-yang
“considered the hare to be a telluric genius so that nobody dared to
hunt it,” and throughout China it has always been looked upon
(especially the red variety) as a divine animal. [117] Albino hares are
regarded as omens of good, and their appearance a mark of heavenly
approval. In Dr. Eitel’s Handbook of Chinese Buddhism, Art. Sakchi, we
read, that an unselfish hare who threw itself into the fire, to offer
its flesh as food for others, was transferred by Indra to the centre of
the Moon. [118] The superstition concerning hares is common to China
and India. Nor, though it does not take precisely the same form, is a
belief in the portentous attributes of this animal wanting at home. For
a hare to cross a man’s path early in the morning is an ill omen
throughout Europe. And a Highlander of the 42nd Regiment, in his
printed memoirs, notices the same harbinger of evil as having crossed
his own path on a day of personal disaster in Spain. [119] It is
noteworthy that the Goddess Freya is represented as attended by hares,
who act as train and light-bearers. The hare moreover is reputed to be
the commonest disguise of a witch in all the Northern Countries of
Europe. [120]
Equally as widespread as the foregoing superstition is a common belief,
that drowned bodies may be discovered by throwing into the water
certain objects which, it is asserted, will stop over the exact spot
where the corpse may lie. The American Indians use a chip of cedar
wood. In England a loaf of bread loaded with quicksilver is used, while
in Ireland similar use is made of a wisp of straw, bound round with a
strip of parchment on which some cabalistic words have been written by
the parish priest. In Java and in some parts of China a living goat (a
sheep, I believe, will do as well) is cast into the water, and its dead
body will, as is believed, indicate the resting place of the drowned
man. As regards running streams it is easy to account for this common
superstition by natural facts, but the varied forms it assumes are
interesting. Another Chinese superstition relates to the use of salt,
which is thrown into the water when any one has been rescued from
drowning. A few months since a correspondent wrote to a Shanghai
newspaper as follows:—“Yesterday afternoon a youngster of the Chinese
nationality fell into the water off a pontoon. So his relatives set to
work to fish him out, which humane act being accomplished, was followed
by two old women very properly pulling his ears for trying to drown
himself, and giving them trouble, while another old woman threw salt
into the water at the spot he had fallen in. Can any of your readers
inform me what the salt-throwing meant, and whether it is a custom on
such occasions to do so?” The query remained unanswered. Nor has
subsequent enquiry enabled me to throw any light upon the subject.
“It’s a local custom,” was the only answer I could get. But a reference
to Brand gives us some very interesting facts in connection with the
use of salt for the purposes of lustration. [121] Flinging salt over
the left shoulder to avert threatened calamity is a well-known custom.
The Greeks and Romans used it in their lustrations, and Jews and Pagans
alike used it in their sacrifices as a propitiation. The Romans
especially designed it as a propitiatory offering to avert the
vengeance of Stygian or infernal Gods—an exact parallel to the Chinese
custom. In the Isle of Man, a gift of salt is an essential element in
numerous transactions. The Scotch used to, and perhaps still, put salt
in the first milk taken from a cow after calving. That the Chinese
should credit salt with propitiatory virtues also is therefore curious.
Another item of our own household folk-lore, concerning the last piece
of any edible left on a dish, is purely Chinese. While our goodwives
give it the name of the “bachelor’s bit,” the Chinese call it the
“poison piece,”—not because it is in itself poisonous, but because he
who takes it may fare as badly as if he had been veritably poisoned.
The Chinese think it unlucky to have the spout of a kettle, standing on
the fire, turned outwards;—a belief I can only match by our
superstition that it forebodes ill to cross two knives on the dinner
table, being unable to trace the origin of either superstition.
I can hardly avoid in this place a notice of the singular geomantic
superstitions known as Fêng-shui, regarding which Dr. Eitel has written
so excellent a brochure. That learned writer answers the question “what
is Fêng-shui?” in the following words: “Fêng-shui [the words themselves
signify wind and water] is, as I take it, but another name for natural
science.... It is simply the blind gropings of the Chinese mind after a
system of natural science, which gropings, untutored by practical
observation of nature, and trusting almost exclusively in the truth of
alleged ancient tradition, and in the force of abstract reasoning,
naturally left the Chinese mind completely in the dark.” No more
accurate definition for scientific purposes could be given, and to
those who feel an interest in the subject I cannot do better than
recommend the perusal of his work. But for present purposes, in which
the practical rather than the theoretical side of popular belief is
necessarily dealt with, the reply must be framed somewhat differently.
Fêng-shui, then, is a system of geomancy which determines the good or
ill luck of localities as regards their occupation for purposes of
building, cultivation, burial, etc., etc. By way of illustrating this
interpretation the following paragraph from a Shanghai newspaper,
written of course simply for “news” purposes, is apposite:—“The general
excitement caused in Hangchow, in common, apparently, with the rest of
the province, was some weeks ago intensified by a development of the
well-known superstition of Fêng-shui. A number of people having died in
a certain part of the town, enquiries began to be made as to the cause
of a mortality somewhat specially localised. But instead of looking, as
Westerns almost instinctively would, to the physical conditions and
environments of the district, the good folks of Hangchow called in the
learning of the geomancers to explain the cause of the ‘evil
influence.’ These worthies were not long in pointing to a range of
buildings belonging to one of the American Missions, that stood on a
hill overlooking the district where the abnormal mortality had
prevailed. These buildings, though not high in themselves, were yet
elevated by their site above all the surrounding buildings, and thus
they interrupted the benign influences of the Fêng-shui. The question
then came to be, how the evil was to be remedied. The traditional mode
of procedure would have been to organise a mob, raise a disturbance,
and during its continuance contrive to pull down or burn the obnoxious
premises. But, on the one hand, past experience of foreigners has
convinced the authorities that this way of dealing with foreign
property is sure to entail serious consequences; while, on the other,
the satisfactory results of diplomatic action as illustrated at Peking
has gradually inclined them to the suaviter-in-modo policy. Accordingly
a number of the gentry were commissioned to proceed to Ningpo and put
themselves in communication with the United States Consul on the
subject. Arrived in Ningpo they drew up a petition to that gentleman,
setting forth the fears and anxieties which were excited among the
common people of Hangchow, by the disturbance of the Fêng-shui
occasioned by the mission premises in question, and setting forth the
willingness of the authorities to grant them a site and erect buildings
on some other site to be agreed on between them and the missionaries,
or to pay the missionaries a money equivalent for the surrender of
their property. The missionaries, on being communicated with by Dr.
Lord, signified their preference of the proposal to grant them an
equally eligible site and erect suitable buildings elsewhere, in
exchange for their existing property, and this arrangement is now in
course of being carried out.” No better instance of the difficulties
which Fêng-shui presents to foreign missionary and commercial
enterprise could be adduced.
A superstitious belief in the value of human blood and portions of the
body as medicinal aids seems to be common to the ignorant classes of
many nations. Just two years ago, a number of lepers were reported to
have made their appearance at Whampoa and its vicinity, attacking and
killing healthy men, that they might drink the blood and eat the
intestines of those killed, which, lepers are under the firm belief,
will cure them of their loathsome disease. The native residents at
Whampoa became very apprehensive about this, and exercised very great
caution in their trips into the surrounding country in obedience to the
time-honoured custom of worshipping at the tombs. A Chinaman, who was
employed on board one of the river steamers, caught the disease, and,
as was currently stated at the time, resorted to the modus operandi
stated above. Female lepers, by the way, believe that they will become
free from the disease if they communicate it to men willing to live
with them, and as some are always to be found sufficiently dead to
ordinary feeling to do so, leprosy has by this means been spread more
than it would otherwise be.
The idea of cannibalism for other purposes is by no means unfamiliar to
the Cantonese. When the rebels, called “patriots” by the half-informed
enthusiasts of those days, held possession of the Blenheim Reach Fort,
they used to drink the blood and eat the hearts of the Imps, (i.e.
foreigners) whom they made prisoners. Colonel Yule, in his exhaustive
work on Marco Polo (Vol. I., p. 275), devotes a lengthy note to the
subject of Chinese and Tibetan cannibalism. The Arab travellers of the
9th century relate that, “In China it occurs sometimes that the
governor of a province revolts from his duty to the emperor. In such a
case he is slaughtered and eaten. In fact the Chinese eat the flesh of
all men who are executed by the sword.” Dr. Rennie states (and I can
myself confirm the assertion) that after an execution at Peking certain
large pith-balls are steeped in the blood of the defunct criminal, and
under the name of “blood-bread” are sold as a medicine for consumption.
It is only to the blood of decapitated criminals that any such healing
power is attributed. “It is asserted that the executioners of Mr. de
Chappedelaine, a Romish missionary murdered in Yunnan in 1862, were
seen to eat the heart of their victim, and Mr. Cooper, the well-known
traveller, was told by a Bishop of the same mission, that he had seen
men in Yunnan eating the heart and brains of a celebrated robber, who
had been executed.” In all these cases the idea underlying this
horrible act is, that by eating a portion of the victim, especially the
heart, one acquires the valour with which he was endowed.
Nor do the Chinese stand alone in their silly stories respecting the
use of the children’s eyes and blood for photographic purposes. I note
that a recent report of the Smyrna mission alludes to a superstition
amongst the Greek Christians of the Levant curiously similar. They hold
that the Jewish ritual enjoins the shedding of blood at the feast of
the Passover, and that the Jews annually inveigle a Christian child
into their toils, fatten it up, and then open its arteries to utilize
the blood. [122] This blood, it is believed, is kneaded into the
unleavened bread by the priests, who afterwards distribute this
devilish confectionery to their congregations, for a small pecuniary
consideration. [123]
But the superstitions regarding the uses of human blood or flesh are
not confined to the instances above given. It used to be believed at
Canton, and perhaps now is, that the blood of an unborn infant was all
effective for magical purposes. [124] It is used as a charm against
husbands by a sect called 迷夫教, a set of young unmarried women,
comprising a sisterhood who are sworn never to many. If forced by their
parents to do so, they then employ this charm to destroy their husbands
in order to remain single, and be faithful to the oaths of the
sisterhood. A case is on record in which a Fokienese availed himself of
this drug to influence a woman for improper purposes, and her
subsequent death in child-birth was regarded as the natural result of
her yielding to the horrible charm.
More wide-spread is a belief in the restorative qualities of human
flesh and blood to the sick. Parents suffering from long-standing or
dangerous diseases are frequently offered a decoction of medicine in
which is mixed a piece of the flesh of one of their children. It is
considered an act of great filial piety to cut a slice off one’s calf
to mix it with medicine for a parent. The practice is still followed
even to the present day. Honourable mention is often made in the Peking
Gazette of such cases. It has of late been written down by the native
press, particularly by the Chinese Mail. A recent issue of the Shanghai
Courier and Gazette (November 1875) contained the following paragraph
amongst its local items:—“Two model sons are now living at Soochow,
whose mother was one day taken alarmingly ill. They were very poor; but
medical assistance was urgently necessary, and so the elder brother
went to implore the assistance of a celebrated doctor. He was only
able, of course, to offer the great man a small fee; and the great man
loftily refused to come. The poor lad threw himself on the ground
before him and bumped his head till it ached, but the doctor was quite
immoveable. So he went home and told his younger brother how
unsuccessful he had been. The unfortunate woman was dying; what was to
be done? At length the young boy hit upon an expedient. He cut a great
piece of flesh out of his left arm, boiled it down to a broth, and gave
it his mother to drink. It is said that she recovered.” In May 1874, a
memorial in the Peking Gazette records how the Deputy Governor of Honan
petitioned in reference to a dutiful daughter who cut a piece of flesh
from her arm, in order to cure her father of his sickness. “In the
present Holy Dynasty, filial piety rules the Empire, and this doctrine
originates in the female sex. In the district of Chinyang there lived a
daughter remarkable for her filial piety, whose name after her
marriage, was Mrs. Wang. In the fifth year of the reign of the Emperor
Hëen-fung, this young lady’s father became dangerously ill, and his
filial daughter, lighting incense sticks, announced (to the gods) her
desire to sacrifice her own body for her father’s sake. After this
announcement, her father’s illness increasing, and his physicians being
unable to cure him, this filial daughter secretly cut off a piece of
flesh from her arm, and putting it into the medicine prescribed, gave
it to her father who, on eating it, immediately recovered. Some time
afterwards the daughter’s female attendants, perceiving the mark on her
arm, questioned her as to the cause and learned from her the facts
already stated. There was not a single individual of all those who
heard the narrative who was not struck with amazement.” The young lady
in question was shortly afterwards married, but her father dying some
ten years afterwards she “pined away and died for grief.” The petition
from which the above quotation is made prays the Emperor to order that
a Triumphal Arch be erected to her memory, as was usual in cases when
extreme filial piety had been displayed, and the petition was of course
granted.
A common saying that “a selfish child will be cut while being shaved”
embodies an idea not altogether unfamiliar to ourselves. But another
Chinese superstition, which certainly existed in full force at one
time, though I have failed to get any positive confirmation of its
existence at the present day, obliges us to seek its parallel amongst
other than Aryan races. A belief in weather conjuring by means of “rain
stones” seems to have been introduced into China from Mongolia, and
though it never took extensive root it attracted sufficient attention
to induce the Emperor Shih-tsung in 1724–25, to issue an edict on the
subject. It is addressed to the Mongolian Banner Corps, and says: “If I
offering prayer in sincerity have yet room to fear it may please Heaven
to have my prayer unanswered, it is truly intolerable that mere common
people wishing for rain should at their own caprice set up altars of
earth, and bring together a rabble of Hoshang and Taossŭ to conjure the
spirits to gratify their wishes.” Colonel Yule, in his Marco Polo, from
which (I. p. 273) I take this reference, gives some long and
interesting notes on the subject. Rain stones are used by the Samoans
in the Pacific, and if my memory does not deceive me, by some of the
North American Indian tribes also.
A popular belief exists in Central China that the practice of
gymnastics, if carried out with sufficient faithfulness, will enable
the student to avoid the common lot, and pass bodily into a future
state “ascending to heaven with his fleshly body.” That such a belief
exists is not unlikely, and it is probably a vulgar superstition based
on the more reasonable opinion that such exercises tend to extreme
longevity. Another queer superstition (the adjective is not classical
but expressive) relates to bridges. I have already adverted to the care
taken as regards houses by placing on them charms, &c., to avert
possible evil. But bridges, for some mysterious reason, have occult
virtues and defects of their own. A native account says, “If bridges
are not placed in proper positions such as the laws of geomancy
indicate they may endanger the lives of thousands by bringing about a
visitation of small-pox or sore eyes (!). They materially affect the
prosperity of the neighbourhood. There is a legend that during the
building of the stone bridge situated near the small eastern gate of
Shanghai (陸家百橋 the ‘Loh-family bridge,’) some difficulty was found in
laying the foundations. The builder thereupon vowed to Heaven the lives
of two thousand children if the stones could be placed properly. The
Goddess addressed, however, intimated that she would not require all
their lives, but that the number in question would be attacked by small
pox. This took place, and about half of those attacked died.” Stories
like this circulated amongst coolies and compradores are a fair
specimen of popular legendry in this connection. But why bridges should
especially require such sacrifices it is difficult to say.
Amongst what may be termed domestic superstitions is one that, if a
person be afflicted with a swelling, touching it three times with the
hem of a woman’s garment is efficacious as a cure. If, when one is
boiling a pot full of liquid, a straw be tied round the neck of the
pot, it is believed that the contents will never boil over or get
burned. Another piece of cook’s folk-lore relates to eggs. As everybody
knows an egg suddenly plunged into boiling water will most likely
break. But the Chinese cook averts this occurrence by previously
describing a circle with the egg round the rim of the pot, which he
believes is an infallible protection against any fracture of the shell.
The Japanese, by the way, draw auguries from the noise made by boiling.
Over a bright fire, a rice boiler is said to vibrate with such violence
at times as to give forth a loud humming noise. If this begins faintly
and grows afterwards stronger, it is said to indicate good luck; if
loudly, the reverse is predicted, but in such cases it should at once
be stopped by enveloping it in the under-clothing of a female (a
virgin, if possible.)
A curious antidote against sickness is very commonly applied by parents
at Canton to their infant children on the fifth day of the fifth month.
This consists in staining their foreheads and navels with cinnebar or
vermilion, leaves of the sago palm and garlic bulbs being at the same
time suspended over the entrance doors to prevent the intrusion of evil
spirits. A medicated cake prepared at noon of the day in question, and
known as “the noon day tea” (午時茶) is also in much repute for the cure
of diseases, as is also a sort of congee boiled at the same hour with
five kinds of pease.
The all-pervading yang and yin principle so naturally influences the
whole arcana of Chinese belief that it is not surprising to find it
applied to the care of such useful contributors to the national
industries as silkworms. These are said to belong to the yang or male
influence and to be under the protection of a special constellation.
Anything male, such as men, sunlight, &c., is congenial to them, and
anything female deleterious. Hence pregnant women (development of the
yin principle) are not allowed to approach them; and even the presence
of a new-born child in too close proximity is thought to be
deleterious.
Finally, I may note that a curious superstition obtains regarding
murderers. It is believed that if the corpse of the murdered man lies
with its fists closed, it is a sign that the murderer will soon be
captured. If, on the contrary, the hands are extended, the omen
foretells that he will for at least some time make good his escape. It
is strange, by the way, that so widespread a belief as that relating to
the bleeding of a corpse when touched by its murderer has not some
analogy in China. At least I have failed to find any, though a not
quite dissimilar superstitious idea is prevalent, that if a man has
died a violent death—either by process of the law, or by the act of a
murderer—and the dead man is dissatisfied, blood will come out of his
mouth, eyes and nostrils on the appearance of a close relative.
VII.—GHOSTS, APPARITIONS, AND SUPERNATURAL BEINGS.
No one who has thus far followed my imperfect efforts to convey an idea
of the popular beliefs of the Chinese will be surprised to find that
ghosts and apparitions occupy an even greater place in their
superstitious lore than is the case with ourselves. In the words of a
native friend, “China is full of ghosts.” There is scarcely a popular
play in which a ghost does not play a conspicuous part in aiding to
right the wronged or to punish the guilty. The person to whom he
appears on such occasions generally counterfeits either sleep or
insensibility; but now and then while wakeful and active the actor
(especially if he be the ruffian of the piece) is scared out of his
senses by the apparition in the most approved melodramic style. Many
popular stories turn also on the appearance of supposed ghosts, who
turn out to be quite bonâ fide citizens in the flesh, and simply
enforce the moral that conscience makes a coward of the wrongdoer. A
story of this sort runs to the following effect, and narrates an
incident stated by Mr. C. T. Gardner to have happened only some five
years ago at Chinkeang. There were two partners, named Chang and Li, on
one occasion returning by way of the canal from Yangchow, where they
had been collecting debts. Chang saw Li standing on the edge of the
boat, and the crime of pushing him into the water, and thus becoming
sole possessor of the money, suggested itself. Chang, therefore, pushed
Li into the canal. Next year, at the time the murder was committed,
Chang fell very ill, and the ghost of Li appeared to him in a
threatening form, and told him that unless he paid over the sum
properly belonging to the dead man’s family, he would die. Chang
promised to do so, and got well, but his health being restored he broke
his promise, and still kept the money. Again, the following year, at
the same time, Li’s ghost again appeared, looking still angrier. Again
Chang was induced to make the promise, and this time he kept it.
However, his health seemed permanently to suffer, everything went
wrong, business fell off, and he determined to try and change his luck
by migrating to other parts; he consequently went to Honan. What was
his astonishment when he again saw Li, not now in the middle of the
night by the side of the bed where he lay sick, but in broad daylight,
and in the street. His terror was extreme, he rushed forward, and made
a ko-tow, and said, “I have already done as you ordered me, why do you
still haunt me?” To which Li replied, “I am no ghost; what do you
mean?” Then Chang told him how he had twice appeared, and how his share
of the money had been paid to his family. Li then said, “So, it was not
an accident my falling into the river? I had neglected to pay due
respect to the spirit of my father, and when I tumbled in the river,
and was nearly drowned, I thought it a punishment for my impiety.”
“The spirits of the dead,” remarks Mr. Chalmers, “were perhaps known at
first only as objects of superstitious fear under the name Kwei 鬼,
ghosts. The top of this character is supposed to represent a human
skull. It had from the first an unpleasant association, and hence it is
seldom used in speaking respectfully of the dead. In the poetry it
occurs only twice, once as our modern Ghost, and once as the name of a
place—Ghostland.
“An interesting statement is attributed to Confucius in the Book of
Rites (§ Tan-kung) that in the time of the Hea, the earliest dynasty,
they did not sacrifice to the dead, but simply made for them incomplete
implements of bamboo, earthenware without polish, harps unstrung,
organs untuned, and bells unhung, which they called ‘bright implements’
implying that the dead are spirits (shen) and bright. There is
something really beautiful in this; and the substitution of ‘bright
spirits’ or ‘spiritual intelligences’ for ‘ghosts’ is an euphemism of
which we feel the necessity as much as the Chinese; for who likes to
speak of his relations as gone to the shades and to the fellowship of
ghosts?”
One peculiarity of the Chinese belief respecting ghosts is forcibly
recalled by Charles Dickens’s description of the Ghost of Christmas
Past in his famous “Carol.” They are frequently seen in shapeless form,
i.e. that the head will first be visible and then the feet, then the
body, and so on, the various parts appearing and disappearing in swift
succession. Another quaint belief is that a ghost has no chin, and to
say to a Cantonese “ni mo ha-pa”—“You’ve no chin,” is equivalent to
saying “You’re a Ghost.” Furthermore, the conventional white clothing
which European superstition bestows on nearly all ghostly visitors is
absent from the Chinese idea. A ghost in this country always appears in
the dress he was accustomed to wear during life—a very Marley in
fact—and conducts himself in a very ordinary way. There is indeed a
refreshing absence of the fee-faw-fum element in Chinese ghostology,
this eminently practical people taking a most matter-of-fact view of
spirit vagaries. They agree with us however in allotting the hours of
darkness to such visitors, who, as with ourselves, are compelled to
disappear as the cock’s crow announces the returning dawn. The candle
flame, which with us burns blue as the being from another world
intrudes himself, is in China alleged to burn green—an odd reminder of
the “green fear” of the Greeks. Most Chinese ghost stories turn upon
some end to be accomplished by the supernatural visitor; they retail
none of the sprightly friskiness attributed to ghosts in Western lands,
and altogether the Chinese specimen presents, as a rule, an edifying
illustration of how to do one’s work in the quietest and most
straightforward manner possible. It must not, however, be imagined that
they are endowed by popular belief with benevolent intentions. On the
contrary they are supposed to be maliciously inclined, and the very
fact that the words for “ghost” and “devil” are the same, and form a
portion of the objectionable epithets applied to foreigners (Kwei-tsze
in mandarin or Fan-kwai in Cantonese) demonstrates the popular belief.
To see a ghost is almost always regarded as an evil omen, and a
Chinaman is quite as easily scared as a European by the unwelcome
sight. One thus visited is described by his pitying neighbours as “down
in his luck.” As a rule, ghosts in China, it is alleged, most often
appear either to intimate friends or relations, or to downright
enemies. In the former case it is to request the fulfilment of some
unaccomplished duty or to aid virtue in distress, in which latter case
the ghost gives the weaker but upright party material aid in disposing
of his antagonist. As an illustration of the first-named sort of
apparition, I quote the following, recently communicated by a resident
to the North China Daily News, as told him by his teacher to excuse his
non-appearance for some few days:—
“It happened thus; three years ago a soldier who lived near our house
was ordered to join his regiment, which was about to march against the
rebels. As he was going to battle he did not wish to take his money
with him, and he called on my uncle and asked him to take charge of
$40, the amount of his property, until his return. My uncle accordingly
took charge of the money, and the soldier joined his regiment; but he
must have been killed in battle, as we have never heard from him since.
The day before yesterday, my uncle, who has for some time been
suffering from illness, called us to his bedside, and told us that he
was about to die. The soldier, he said, had appeared to him and
insisted that my uncle should immediately join him in Hades. We asked
my uncle whether he had committed any fault with regard to the $40, for
which we might make some atonement by punishing him in any way? He
replied that the money was all right, and that we should find it in a
certain drawer which he pointed out. My uncle died that day, and it was
of course impossible, under such circumstances, that I could come to
your Excellency’s place to study.”
Among recent stories of ghosts is one related in a native newspaper of
a mandarin who met his death in the late collision between the steamers
Fusing and Ocean. The unfortunate man was a passenger in the former
steamer, which was sunk in the catastrophe, over 60 other people being
also drowned. According to the story his ghost appeared to his wife,
who was living in Soochow, streaming with water from head to foot. He
told her that he had unfortunately been drowned and could therefore
enjoy no more of her society. He also stated that he had sent by a
certain friend of his some money for her use before he took passage in
the Fusing, and that the friend would arrive shortly. The wife was left
in a state of bewilderment, and did not exactly know what to make of
it. A day or two afterwards the friend named actually came with the
packet of dollars, his arrival being shortly followed by the
intelligence of the Fusing’s disaster.
Another story relates to a young Cantonese, who was made commander of a
Chinese man-of-war belonging to the Foochow Arsenal fleet. Shortly
after his promotion, he was taken ill and died. He was unmarried, as he
was very young—only 23 years of age. When he fell sick, he was living
at the house of a very intimate friend, a compradore in one of the
foreign firms at Foochow. After his death, the friend frequently saw
his ghost, and one night he saw it more distinctly than ever. He was
lying in bed half asleep and half awake, when he saw the ghost standing
by his bedside weeping. The friend addressed it and said: “Young man,
you need not cry, it is your fate; you should be satisfied with it.”
Thereupon the ghost disappeared, and never shewed itself again to the
same party. The ghost appeared however to the men on board the ship he
had been commanding, being often seen to pace up and down the deck, as
was his wont at night during his lifetime, and sometimes to place
itself in the attitude of drilling the men. Though the appearance here
narrated seems to have been objectless, the story is quoted as being
the type of numberless others which find insertion in the native
prints.
The Chinese endow certain sorts of ghosts with peculiarly malevolent
powers. Thus those of women who die in childbed, or while pregnant, are
peculiarly obnoxious, and those of suicides still more so. The ghosts
of those who die natural deaths seldom appear to the survivors; as a
rule the fact of a man’s ghost appearing implies that he has died by
violence. [126] The commonest type of ghost story to be met with in
China is that wherein somebody who has been foully dealt with appeals
to those who represent his interests to avenge him. It would of course
be more odd if there were no coincidences pointing to the truth of the
alleged appearances than if there were not. But I must confess that in
China as elsewhere they sometimes leave a bona fide impression of the
marvellous which can neither be explained nor rejected.
When a man has been murdered by another, his ghost will, it is
believed, haunt the murderer wherever he goes, and will only be
prevented from doing him a mischief by the want of a suitable
opportunity. Thus the presence of idols in the same room completely
neutralizes the ghost’s power, and it is moreover believed that in any
case no vital injury can be inflicted on the guilty party until the
time of his death, as recorded in the Book of Fate, has arrived. The
ghosts of suicides (who are distinguished by wearing red silk
handkerchiefs) haunt the places in which they committed the fatal deed
and endeavour to persuade others to follow their example; at times, it
is believed, even attempting to play executioner by strangling those
who reject their advances. Mr. Gardner gives the following story as
related to him by a Chinese friend:—“A friend of mine, enticed by low
rent, took a haunted house, and invited a guest to stay with him. My
friend declares he had no dread whatever, and that his guest did not
even know that the house was haunted. In the middle of the night he
heard a noise as if of struggling proceeding from the guest’s bed. He
went to see what was the matter, and found his friend choking in his
sleep. Thinking this might be accidental, he invited three friends to
stay with him, and the phenomenon repeated itself on all three at the
same time. Frightened at this, he made enquiries, and found a woman had
committed suicide in the guest’s chamber, and gave up the house.”
Another story runs as follows:—“Outside the north gate at Hang-chow
there was a house haunted by demons, where no human being dared reside,
of which the doors were ever barred and locked. A scholar named Tsʻai
bought the house: people all told him he was doing a dangerous thing,
but he did not heed them. After the deed of sale had been drawn out,
none of his family would enter the house. Tsʻai therefore went by
himself, and having opened the doors, lit a candle and sat down. In the
middle of the night a woman slowly approached with a red silk
handkerchief hanging to her neck, and having saluted him, fastened a
rope to the beam of the ceiling, and put her neck in the noose. Tsʻai
did not in the least change countenance. The woman again fastened a
rope and called on Tsʻai to do as she had done, but he only lifted his
leg and put his foot in the noose. The woman said ‘You’re wrong.’ Tsʻai
laughed, and said, ‘On the contrary, it was you who were wrong a long
time ago, or else you would not have come to this pass.’ The Ghost
cried bitterly, and having again bowed to Tsʻai, departed, and from
this time the house was no longer haunted. Tsʻai afterwards
distinguished himself as a scholar, and some have identified him with
Tsʻai-ping-ho, the Provincial Chancellor.” A third tale from the same
source illustrates what I have called the practical element in Chinese
ghost stories: “At Nanchang, in Kiangsi, were two literary men who used
to read in the Polar monastery; one was elderly, the other young; they
were united by the bonds of closest friendship. The elder one went to
his home, and suddenly died. The younger man did not know of it, and
went on with his studies at the monastery in the usual way. One night
after he had gone to sleep, he saw his old friend open the bed
curtains, come to the bed, and put his hand on his shoulder, saying,
‘Brother, it is only ten days since I parted from you, and now a sudden
sickness has carried me off. I am a Ghost. I cannot however forget our
friendship, and so have come to bid adieu.’ The young man was so
astounded that he could not speak. The old man reassured him, saying,
‘If I had wished to injure you, why should I have told you I was a
Ghost; do not fear then. The reason of my visit is that I have a favor
to beg of you with regard to the future.’ The young man grew a little
calmer, and asked ‘What can I do?’ The Ghost replied, ‘I have a mother
over 70, and a wife not yet 30; a few piculs of rice are needed for
their maintenance. I beg you to have mercy upon me, and supply their
wants. That is my first request. I have also an essay which I have
written, which has not been printed. I beg of you to get a block cut
for it, and print it, so that my name may not utterly die out. This is
my second request. Next I owe the stationers some thousands of cash,
which I have not paid; kindly settle the claim. This is my third
request.’ The young scholar assented with a nod. The dead man stood up,
and said, ‘As you have been kind enough to grant my requests, I will
depart.’ Saying this he was about to go, when the young scholar, who
had observed from what he said that there was a great deal of human
feeling in him, and also that his appearance was as usual, lost all
fear of the Ghost, and tried to detain him, ‘We have been such close
friends; will you not stay with me now a little while?’ The dead man
wept, and came back and sat on the bed, and having conversed about
ordinary topics, again stood up, and said, ‘I must now go.’ He stood up
and did not move, his eyes stared, and gradually his features changed.
The young scholar got frightened and said, ‘Now you have finished what
you had to say, you had better go.’ But the dead man stood still, and
did not depart. The young man shivered in his bed, and a cold
perspiration came over him, but still the guest went not, but stood
erect by the bedside. The young man got in a still greater fright, and
jumped up and ran away. The Ghost ran with him, and the faster the
young man ran, the faster ran the Ghost. After a mile or so of this
race they came to a wall, over which the young man vaulted, and fell to
the ground. The dead man could not get over the wall, so he hung his
head over its ledge, and from his mouth fell some saliva which fell on
the young man’s face as he lay. At daybreak some passers-by gave the
young man some ginger, and he awakened from his trance. Meanwhile the
family of the dead man sought the corpse, but could not find it, but
when they heard the news of the corpse looking over the wall they took
the body and buried it.”
Although as I have said there is a general absence of “friskiness” in
Chinese ghosts, such pranks as those which have attracted attention at
home—throwing down crockery, trampling on the floor, &c.—are not
unknown. The only difference is that with us, such annoyances seem
usually to be purposeless, while in China they are resorted to attract
attention to the ghost’s demands. Ghosts, say the natives, are much
more liable to appear very shortly after death than at any other
period. For the first ten days after the spirit has quitted the body a
ghost is said to be 囘煞 ui shat (in Cantonese), returning to its former
haunts and attempting to pursue its ordinary avocations. In such cases
it is supposed to be accompanied by celestial police termed
Yen-lo-hwang, who are responsible that it duly returns to Hades. In
order to discover whether such a visit has been paid, the hall in which
the body is laid out is strewn with a smooth layer of sand. If it
appear clean, or footmarks only are visible, it may be concluded that
the deceased is in a state of happiness; but should the marks of chains
or dirt be detected, his fate is supposed to be very much the reverse.
I may, by the way, note that to constantly dream of deceased relatives
is regarded as a sign that the dreamer will soon die.
The superstitions as to deceased husbands visiting their wives are
peculiar, but scarcely calculated for popular explanation. A somewhat
contemptuous idea seems to prevail amongst the Chinese regarding the
intelligence possessed by ordinary ghosts. They are usually spoken of
as stupid and easily amenable to the control of those who remain
self-possessed. The ghostly hierarchy is well marked off as to its
degrees. Thus, on the 17th of the 7th moon, a ceremony called
“appeasing the burning mouths,” consists in laying out plates filled
with cakes and bearing above them invitations to the “Honourable
Homeless Ghosts,” or those whose relations being too poor to provide
for them, leave them to the tender mercies of the general public. Those
are the paupers of Ghostland. The writer already quoted, says in his
amusing paper:—“Though the invitations are addressed to Ghosts near and
far, there seems to be a sort of poor law which practically confines
the relief afforded to Ghosts of the parish. Of course, it is only
disreputable Ghosts who thus consent to live on charity. These pauper
spirits are said to do a great deal of harm, and cause epidemics, but
luckily the firing of crackers is a cure for the diseases thus caused,
as it drives the hungry Ghosts elsewhere. Besides these low bred and
malevolent hobgoblins, there are aristocratic and benevolent spirits,
one of whom rules the destiny of each of the Chinese cities. These
Ghosts are called Chêng-hwang, and receive their appointments in
various manners and for various terms. Thus the Chêng-hwang of Chu-chow
in Chê-kiang, is the ghost of a man named Shih, who was formerly
magistrate of the place, but who died of grief on being unjustly
disgraced. He received his appointment from heaven, and appeared to his
successor in office to notify the fact. The Chêng-hwang of Hangchow is
the ghost of a censor named Chow, who, being unjustly sentenced to
death, memorialized the throne to slay his only son, as he feared he
would rebel to avenge his father. Both were executed, and afterwards it
being found out that the accusation was false, the Emperor, to make
amends, appointed his ghost Chêng-hwang of Hangchow in perpetuity, and
having executed his accusers, man and wife, made stone images of them,
kneeling and in chains, which he caused to be placed in the
Chêng-hwang’s temple. The Chêng-hwang of Wu-chang is changed every
three to six years, and receives the appointment from the Taoist
Patriarch residing at Chang-tien joss-house in Kiangsi, and this is
notified to the various Taoist priests.”
“The Chinese almanacks describe sixty ‘Shin of Offence’ or evil ghosts,
one of which is abroad on each day of the cycle of sixty. If any one
goes out in any particular direction, and afterwards feels heavy-headed
or feverish he is supposed to have met this shin. He therefore takes
some fruit, rice, &c., and politely bows the creature away in the
direction where he met the accident. The shin are pictured in the
almanacks as little naked men. When the demons take possession of a
sacrificing witch she talks about happiness and misery. Every time they
come she is altogether a shin in her eating and drinking and speaking,
and every time they go she is altogether a human being. It would be
hard to say whether demons are in the witch or the witch in the
demons.” [127]
In an old Chinese farce said to date from the Sung Dynasty entitled
王道士收妖 or “How the Taoist priest Wang exorcised the Ghost,” Wang goes to
a haunted house with all his spiritual apparatus, full robes, mitre,
&c., and a gong big enough and noisy enough to frighten the boldest
devil. Not a bit however does the ghost quail in the present instance,
but seizes the gong, the cap and the robes of the holy man, and vows he
will turn the tables. At last the priest goes on his knees, and
beseeches the ghost not to exorcise him, as he only came in order to
earn a few cash; and had he only known beforehand that his Excellency
the ghost was really in the house, he would not have ventured to
disturb him. The farce ends by the ghost exorcising the priest.
Ghosts of idols are not unknown to the Chinese. “Ten years ago, when
the rebels infested the country and the cities were kept under strict
restraint, the people of Canton reported that the idol Kwan-yin’s shin,
her body dressed in white and in her hand a yak’s tail, perambulated
the city wall protecting the rampart; and at San-shuey the common
people reported that the rebels saw the shin of the idol Hiun-tan,
which is outside the South gate, bodily riding on a black tiger and in
his hand a golden whip too awful to be meddled with.”[127]
Another case of god-ghosts visible to the vulgar eye was gravely
recorded a few years since in the Peking Gazette. When the Mahometans
were some time ago besieging the district city of Chang-wei, they
suddenly halted, and ran away. The explanation is that when the rebels
approached the temple of Ta pi-peh (god of the star Venus) they saw a
terrible vision—“gods clad in golden mail and armed with swords and
shields, drawn up in battle array, numerous as forest trees, and all
along the top of the city wall innumerable red lamps;” and as a general
fire of musketry and cannon from the wall was heard, the assailants
were scared, and they abandoned their onslaught on the city.
The residence of human ghosts in Hades is supposed to be subject to
conditions very like those obtaining amongst mortals. They sally forth
on their visits to the world at permitted times and are free so long as
they behave themselves. But any infringement of the ghostly laws which
regulate their conduct is met by prompt punishment and a seclusion
which effectually prohibits their revisiting earthly scenes of pleasure
or business. Even when enjoying to the full all the privileges of
ghostdom, they are not able at all times to do what they would. Mortals
may deter them from appearing by pasting up pictures of Chung-Kwai 鍾葵
the Beelzebub of China, on the walls of their rooms. Talismans written
in perfectly unintelligible characters are also in use, and, as already
seen, Taoist priests are credited with the possession of curious powers
as exorcists. Pictures of Warriors pasted on the doors of houses are
efficacious, as are also the pieces of perforated paper so often seen
waving from the lintels.
The belief in ghosts does not limit itself to those of mankind only.
The spirits of certain animals are also supposed to manifest themselves
in a similar way, but this section of the subject will be more fully
dealt with under the head of witchcraft and demonology. As an
illustration however of animal ghostdom pure and simple, the following
story may be cited:—A resident at Canton named Ling was the owner of a
monkey belonging to a species known as yuan, which is supposed to be
peculiarly intelligent and possesses an almost human mind. The natives
believe that if one of these monkeys has plenty of water given to it,
it will attain an enormous size, larger than that of an average man.
The monkey in question had been in Mr. Ling’s family for some 40 years,
but never having been allowed to drink water, was of small stature. One
day Mr. Ling’s little son was passing the monkey when it put out its
hand and snatched away his cap. The child complained to his father, who
thereupon chastised the animal heavily with a whip; upon this the
monkey became sulky, refused all food and in a few days died. Shortly
afterwards the monkey’s ghost began to haunt the house. Food placed on
the table vanished mysteriously and many of the curious phenomena
attributed to ghostly interference took place. At last a fire broke out
in the house unaccountably, and Mr. Ling shifted his residence. But the
monkey’s ghost still followed him and continued its persecutions. Again
he moved house and again the ghost accompanied him, until at length, as
a last resource, he took a room in the Temple of the 500 Worthies and
finally evaded his persecutor. The monkey ghost did not dare face the
gods, and so left him in peace. The party mentioned was but a year ago
still residing in the temple.
The foregoing pages, though by no means exhaustive of the subject, will
it is thought be sufficient to indicate the agreement of Chinese with
Western belief as regards ghosts and apparitions. The line of
demarcation between the subjects already treated of, and that of
witchcraft and demonology, being somewhat indefinite, those curious in
the matter will find additional information in the succeeding chapter
under that head.
VIII.—WITCHCRAFT AND DEMONOLOGY.
The subject of Witchcraft and Demonology presents as inexhaustible a
field of interesting matter as any other in the wide domain of Chinese
Folk-lore. So much however has already appeared on the subject of
witchcraft that, were not a full notice of popular Chinese
superstitions in this respect an essential portion of the plan I have
proposed, I should scarcely venture to deal at length with a matter
which has already been handled with considerable ability by other pens.
And indeed the following details consist more of a re-arrangement of
already accessible information than of much that will be new to
students of Chinese social life.
Thirteen hundred years before the birth of Christ, witches and wizards
were familiar objects of Chinese superstitious respect. It is probable
that they practised their occult arts at a period long anterior even to
this, but the direct evidence to that effect is scanty and unreliable.
Suffice it to say that the office of “Chief Wizard” was at that date a
recognized appointment, and that he and his brethren exerted in those
early days a powerful influence over the popular mind. They could “call
spirits from the vasty deep,” avert pestilence and famine and do all
that is pretended on behalf of their modern successors. But scant
notices of their doings however are to be found in the ancient records
of the Empire. Every now and then it is related how some emperor or
celebrated man resorted to the wizard fraternity to discover future
events, or the means of avoiding some threatened evil. But it was not
until about the third century before the Christian era that such
notices were at all common. We then read that wizards existed who could
summon familiars and were often consulted by the reigning potentates.
It is especially noteworthy that the hatred of witches and wizards
cherished in the West does not seem to exist in China. Those reputed to
possess magic powers are regarded with dread, but it is rare to hear of
any of them coming to untimely end by mob violence. The more educated
literati ridicule the implicit belief placed in their pretensions by
the unlettered mob, but take no part in exciting it to violence, and
the feeling is abundantly evidenced by the tone adopted in popular
novels wherein witchcraft often plays a conspicuous part. Besides those
who make a living as professed exorcists, the members of two
trades—builders and plasterers—fall under a suspicion of similarly
unholy proclivities. Witchcraft has always been deemed a communicable
art in China. In the Supplement to the History of the Genii we read:
“Yang Tʻung Yew when a child met a Tauist priest who taught him the art
of invocation and gave him a celestial writing of the three August
Ones, by which he could command and subject all ghost shên, none of
them failing to answer him instantly. Yang went down to the ninth depth
of the earth to seek for the ghost of a royal concubine amongst the
ghost shên in that quarter.” Indeed the power of summoning demons is a
conventional portion of Chinese supernatural tales. Thus, in a recently
published translation of a popular novel entitled The Thunder Peak
Pagoda, [128] we find the heroine and her servant (both originally
serpents) consulting together as to how they shall raise money:—
“‘What then can we do?’ says the mistress. ‘It will be very easy for
you, Madam, to find money,’ replied the slave girl, ‘for you are
possessed of supernatural powers, and you have only to make use of some
spell this evening, to enable you to procure whatever sum you may
require, and by these means you will prove to him that you are truly of
a wealthy family, and that you are the daughter of a high officer.’
Pĭ-chau-niang agreed to what her servant advised, and accordingly that
evening, at the third watch, she prepared seven pans of burning
charcoal in a circle, and entering therein with a drawn double-edged
knife, began walking round and round, muttering incantations; suddenly
she uttered a loud cry, and summoned to her presence all the chiefs of
the demons from the four corners of the earth, who instantly appeared
and knelt before her crying, ‘Your servants are present—In what can the
spirits serve their mistress?’ Pĭ-chau-niang ordered them to bring her
a thousand taels of silver. Hardly had she uttered the words, when the
money was before her in twenty ingots of fifty taels each.”
The Chinese idea of genii can best be given in the words of their own
writers. A genie, says one of them, will live upon air, or even give up
breathing the outer air and carry on the process of breathing inwardly,
as they say, for days together as in a catalepsy (like an Indian fakeer
buried alive?). He will become invisible: he will take the form of any
beast, bird, fish or insect. He will mount up above the clouds, dive
into the deepest sea or burrow into the centre of the Earth. He will
command spirits and demons of all sorts and sizes and have them at his
beck and call. And finally after living in the world for perhaps
several hundred years he does not die (for a genie is immortal, though
a spirit may not be so), but he rides up to heaven on the back of a
dragon where he becomes a ruler of spirits.
The Tauist considers genii as the highest class of intelligent beings
and places Shên or spirits next below them: the strict Confucianist
denies their existence—
Like cumbrous flesh: but in what shape they choose,
Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,
Can execute their airy purposes,
And works of love or enmity fulfil.
Paradise Lost, IL., 24.
In Kwan-tzu, sec. 14, we find this definition:—“That which when it
would be small becomes like a moth or a grub, when it would be large
fills the world, when it would ascend mounts the cloudy air, when it
would descend enters the deep—whose transformations are not limited by
days, nor its mounting or falling by seasons, is called Shên (or
spirit).”—The agreement of this with the description of genii given in
the Arabian Nights is too obvious to need insisting on. Taoist genii
(仙人) are thus described: “The genie is a man who had a former existence
in the world of spirits, is born into the world either on account of
some indiscretion or for some benevolent object, or simply by way of
amusement—usually in some lowly situation. He early begins to shew a
predilection for things mysterious, to receive visitors from the unseen
world, to practice Alchemy and the healing art, to prepare and use
certain drugs and charms of which no one knows the use or the virtue
but himself, and the more advanced genii from whom he gets from time to
time instruction and assistance; and then to give up human food and all
ordinary human occupation.” After this there is scarcely any marvellous
thing which the human mind can fancy that he will not be found doing.
One of the most celebrated genii alluded to in Chinese history is Chang
Kwoh, who possessed a white mule which could transport him if required
thousands of miles in a single day, and which when he halted he folded
up and hid away in his wallet. [129] Another was Hu Kung, 壺公 a magician
who effected wonderful cures and was accustomed to retire at sunset to
the interior of a gourd hung up at his own doorpost. (See Ch. Readers’
Manual, sect. v.) Many females also are numbered in the list of such
beings, one of the most celebrated being Ma Ku 麻姑. The seeds of the Che
芝 plant were reputed by the Tauist mystics to be the food of the genii,
as were also the leaves of the Yoh Wang 藥王 tree which grows in the
moon. The result of using this food is that the bodies of those who eat
of it become pellucid as crystal. [130] As with the Westerns the genii
possess the secret of a magic powder. They use the yellow heron (Hwang
Kuh Ko) as an aërial courser.
The “Isles of the genii” San Shên Shan 三仙山 were supposed to lie pretty
much where Formosa actually exists, and, like the fabled Atlantis of
European superstition, they have been the subject of actual search. Su
Shih or Su Fuh, a necromancer who lived about B.C. 219, announced their
existence to the then Emperor, and, in accordance with his own request,
was placed at the head of a large troop of young men and maidens, and
set out on his voyage of discovery; but the expedition, though it
steered within sight of the magic island, was driven back by contrary
winds. Mr. Mayers adds to this account in his Manual that it is
conjectured this legend has some reference to attempts at colonizing
the Japanese islands. If so the parallel between the Isles of the genii
and Atlantis is yet more perfect.
A very superficial comparison of Chinese and Western ideas on the
subject of necromancy demonstrates their identity. The familiar stories
of Jane Shore and the Countess of Soissons, accused respectively of
making waxen images of the Duke of Gloucester and of Louis XIV. to
compass their death; the less known account of the death of Ferdinand
Earl of Derby, whose death by poison in the reign of Elizabeth was by
popular credulity attributed to witchcraft, “a waxen image with hair
like that of the unfortunate earl being found in his chamber and
reducing every suspicion to certainty;” King James’ remarks in his
Daemonology (Book II., Ch. V.) “that the devil teacheth how to make
pictures of wax or clay, that by roasting thereof, the persons that
they bear the names of may be continually melted or dried away by
continual sickness”;—these and the host of similar stories recorded in
our own and continental annals all find an exact reproduction in China.
[131] There is a well-known legend amongst the Cantonese of a builder
having a grudge against a woman whose kitchen he was called upon to
repair—(builders, as already noted, are believed to often practice
witchcraft). The repairs were duly completed, but somehow or other the
woman could never visit the kitchen without feeling ill. Convinced that
witchcraft was at the bottom of it, she had the wall pulled down, and
sure enough there was discovered in a hollow left for the purpose “a
clay figure in a posture of sickness.” It may be noted that a reflex of
the old English superstition that drawing blood from a witch renders
her harmless is suggested by the Chinese belief regarding images such
as that above described. Builders or plasterers are supposed to cut a
gash in some part of their bodies whence the warm blood is injected
into the interior of the image thus making it alive! Nor does Chinese
superstition confine itself to clay images only. It is believed that
certain wizards are able to endow with life figures cut out of paper
with similar effects. In other cases these paper mannikins become the
wizard’s familiars and obey all his orders. There is also a widespread
superstition that the feathers of birds, after undergoing certain
incantations, are thrown up into the air and being carried away by the
wind work blight and destruction wherever they alight.
References to necromancers who have at various times enjoyed a large
amount of popular reverence abound in Chinese history, though it is
somewhat difficult to distinguish between the historical “magician” and
the mythical “genie.” In Mr. Mayers’s very comprehensive Manual are
notices of, amongst others, Hsien Yuan chi, who (A.D. 847) played the
part of Cagliostro, pretending to the gift of perpetual youth and the
power of transforming lovely damsels into wrinkled harridans and vice
versa; of Li Shao kun (Circa B.C. 140), who professed to know the
secrets of transmutation and immortality; of Lu-Pan, the patron saint
of Carpenters, who carved a genie which of three years inflicted
drought on the people of Wu; of Lu Yen (A.D. 755), who for 400 years
wielded a magic sword with which he traversed the Empire, slaying
dragons and emulating the deeds of the knights of Western chivalry; of
Tʻu Yü and Yü Lui, renowned for their magic control over evil spirits;
and of Tso-Tzŭ, who in the second century practised magic. It is
noteworthy that throughout all this mass of legend there runs the same
vein of search after the elixir of youth and the philosopher’s stone
which forms so prominent a feature of our own mediæval history. “Men of
the four seas are all brothers,” says one of the tritest of Chinese
apothegms; and so it would seem.
The vast extent of the Chinese Empire has allowed the natives to allot
a portion of its territory to a tribe of magicians called mao shan; and
it is to this country that those desirous of acquiring magical arts
proceed, to place themselves under the instruction of its diabolical
inhabitants. Adepts in their lore can, it is asserted, make fowls
which, being placed outside houses it is desired to rob, will during
the night open its doors so as to admit the robbers. Another belief
refers to the existence of invisible necromancers called shan ching
kwei 閃靑鬼. People who have been deeply wronged and are unable to
otherwise avenge themselves can by practising certain spells become
shan ching kwei. The most efficacious way is to dig up a coffin, and,
after removing the body it contains, to sleep in it for several nights
in succession. At the end of so many days the sleeper becomes invisible
until dawn, and can thus gratify his revenge without fear of detection.
A belief in demon monsters somewhat resembling the genii of the Arabian
Nights exists in full force in China and dates back to respectable
antiquity. One of the Emperors who flourished about 700 A.D., having
been taken ill, dreamt he saw a blue half-naked devil coming into his
palace. He stole the empress’s perfume bag and also the emperor’s flute
which was made of precious stone, and flew off with them to the palace
roof. Suddenly there appeared another blue devil, but of giant stature,
having a black leather high boot on one foot, the other being bare. He
had on a blue gown. One arm was like his foot, bare, with which he
wielded a massive sword. His mouth was like that of a bull. This fierce
looking monster seized the little one and with a blow made an end of
him. The Emperor asked this monster demon what his name was. He said
his name was Tsung Kwei, and that he was a military M.A. when in the
body, but that now he had become a sort of colonel-commandant over all
imps, ogres, wraiths, hobgoblins and the like under heaven. The emperor
was greatly flattered at being visited by such a distinguished although
unearthly personage, and waking up found his illness gone. He called a
painter to paint for him what he had seen in his dream; and it was
executed so faithfully that the emperor ordered two hundred ounces of
gold to be given him and that copies of the painting should be
distributed throughout the whole empire, so that all the people might
know and pay due respect to this blue bull-headed demon. To this day he
holds a conspicuous place in the temples of the people.
[132]“Although this monster demon ranked high, he was low when
compared either to the ancient or present head of the vast host which
abounds in the air, the earth, or the infernal regions. All mermaids
of the deep, all satyrs of the forest, all needle-necked starving
ghosts, the weak and the strong, whatever forms they take, whether
birds, fishes, beasts or men, or a combination of some or all of them,
make nondescript monsters of demons. All are said to have existed in
the time of Fuhi, and immediately after that time under the rule of
the harpy Nü-kwa 女媧. She had a human face with the body of a bird. It
was she who mended the visible heavens for us, but unfortunately it
was not completed. There is a little hole in the north west corner,
and to this day the wind from that quarter is colder than any other.
“The present head of the demons was a Tauist priest named Chang Tau
Ling, who lived when the kingdom of Wei was powerful. At sixty years of
age, he ate the pills of immortality, after which, Lautsze, the founder
of Tauism, appeared to him and gave him supreme power over all demons.
When he was thus appointed to be the modern head of the demon kingdom,
Lautsze gave him a book of charms and spells together with two magic
swords. Chang Tau Ling lived to the age of 123 years, when he ascended
in the light of day to his onerous duties of ruling the devils. After
this many of the Tauists for a time actually called themselves devils;
the name evidently had become respectable.
“Having dealt with demons in general, let us now proceed to a special
class of human phenomena which the Chinese attribute to the influence
of demons. Firstly, then, is their power to produce diseases. There is
no disease to which the Chinese are ordinarily subject to that may not
be caused by demons. In this class the mind is untouched; it is only
the body that suffers, and the Chinese endeavour to get rid of them by
vows and offerings to the gods. The subject in this case is an
involuntary one.
“Next come those who are possessed by the indwelling of the evil
spirit. These the Chinese distinguish from the lunatics both by their
appearance and language. There is more of a cringing nature in the
possessed, and the patient’s manner is perfectly consistent with his or
her new consciousness, and which is said to be the demon’s. When
questioned as to his home, the demon answers, it is in the mountain or
desert, generally in some cave. Sometimes he says that the person whom
he had possession of before is dead, and having no abode, he takes up
his quarters with a new victim. Sometimes he says he is travelling or
has only come to pay a visit to a brother or sister, to a father or
mother, and that after a short stay he will go away. Those possessed
range between 15 and 50 years of age—quite irrespective of sex.
Possession comes on very suddenly—sometimes in the day, sometimes in
the night. The demoniac talks madly—smashes everything near—possesses
unusual strength, tears his clothes into rags and would rush into the
streets or to the mountains, or kill himself, unless prevented. After
this violent possession, the demoniac calms down and submits to his
fate, but under the most heart-rending protests. These mad spells which
are experienced on the demon’s entrance return at intervals and become
more frequent the longer possessed and generally with more intensity,
so that death at last ensues from their violence.
“A Chefoo boy aged 15 was going on an errand. His path led him through
fields where men were working at their crops. When he came up to the
men and had exchanged a word or two with them he suddenly began to rave
violently, his eyes rolled, and he made for a pond which was by. Seeing
this, the people ran up to him, stopped him from drowning himself and
took him home to his parents. When he got home he sprang up from the
ground several yards, manifesting superhuman strength. After a few days
he calmed down and became unusually quiet and gentle, but his own
consciousness was lost. It was that of another. He spoke of his friends
in Nanking. After six months the demon departed, and the boy got back
his own consciousness. He has been in the service of several foreigners
in Chefoo since. In this case no worship was offered to the demon.
“Now we come to those who are involuntarily possessed but who yield to
the worship of the demon. The demon says he will cease from tormenting
the demoniac if he worships him and will reward him by increasing his
riches. But if not, he will punish his victim, make heavier his
torments and rob him of his property. People find that their food is
cursed, and that whenever they prepare any, filth and dirt comes down
from the air to make it uneatable. Their water is likewise cursed,
their wardrobe is set on fire, and their money very mysteriously
disappears. Hence arose the custom of cutting off the head of the
string of cash that it might not run away. The 999 cash of the thousand
is made to return to the one left in the following manner. The blood of
a fly called Fu-chien (蚨蟬) sprinkled on the one cash left at home and
the fly’s eggs are put on the 999 cash that are laid out. Tradition
says (and Kanghi’s Dictionary perpetuates it) that the young flies in
the eggs, although fastened to each cash, will all find their way back
again to their mother, bringing the cash with them. When the people’s
faith in these and similar antidotes fail, they yield to the demon and
say, ‘Hold! Cease thy cursings, we will worship thee.’ A picture is
stuck up on the wall, sometimes that of a woman, sometimes of a man and
prostration is made to it twice a month. Being thus reverenced, money
comes mysteriously in instead of going out. Even millstones are made to
move in at the demon’s orders and the family at once becomes rich. But
it is said that no luck attends such a family; it will eventually be
reduced to poverty. Even officials believe these things. Palaces are
known to have been built by them for these demons, whilst the latter
are obliged to be satisfied with humbler shrines from the poor.”
Stories of persons being possessed by demons are so common that it is
difficult to choose from the selection which offers itself. I quote the
following as illustrating one phase of the common belief. It relates to
animal possession, and is as follows:—“At Ningpo, some religious
Buddhist published a tract with a picture of a buffalo, a frog and a
dog, and some Chinese characters. It tells how a native of Ningpo, who
used to catch and kill frogs, was possessed by the spirit of his
victims, how his body broke out into blotches, how he squatted like a
frog, and finally was impelled to spit himself in the very manner he
had spitted these innocent little reptiles.”
The other story is a translation from the Chinese, [133] and runs as
follows:—In Funghua district a literary man surnamed Woo had a slave
girl of fifteen or sixteen who was black and ugly, but his wife was
fair and beautiful. The slave always slept in the wife’s apartment,
till suddenly one day she was missing and could not be found for two or
three days. At last an old female servant on going to fetch firewood
and opening the coal-hole heard an inexplicable chirping noise and
turning aside some of the firewood found the girl standing like a stump
in the middle of it. She was perfectly inane and on being pulled out,
though she walked, would answer no questions. They gave her a dose of
hot ginger and water, upon which she threw up a basin full of mud. Then
she began to speak and said, “There was an old man like a genie in
green clothes and square cap came and called me away, the other day, I
know not where. When I wanted food he gave me cakes to eat. But now I
am very hungry.” They gave her some rice and that night she slept in
her mistress’s room. But everything in the room was being pulled about,
so that the master and mistress got up to look. They called the girl,
but she did not answer, and as the doors and everything were in their
usual state they said nothing about it. Next day the girl was missing
again, and searching for her in the old place they found her exactly as
before. On giving her three slaps with the hand she came to herself,
but while they were in the act of scolding her lo! there was what she
called “an old man like a genie” up in the eaves of the house, holding
a white fan and in appearance neither old nor young but middle-aged.
They went up to the room above and tried to strike him, but they could
not hit him nor make him move. In the midst of the hubbub he suddenly
disappeared. But as suddenly it was reported that fire had broken out
in the kitchen. This was extinguished, and then all was quiet. But
afterwards every night either the slave or her mistress muttered or
talked in the bedroom, or else there was heard the sound of people
eating, or doing something out of the way. The master did not know what
to do. One day he went and got some brave men to keep guard around the
room with fire-arms, but then a fire broke out down stairs, and while
all the people were putting it out the mistress and slave seemed
perfectly unconscious that anything was going on. Next day, when the
rice was cooked, on opening the pot they found that it was all mixed
with dirt, and uneatable. There was no end to annoyances of this kind.
At last they called in a Tauist priest to fast and say requiems. At the
same time a “Fragrant Feast” of fine things was prepared as if for a
great visitor. The master of the house put on his best clothes and also
knelt down while he presented the wine and the viands: and the whole
family small as well as great worshipped one whole day and night. But
the trouble went on exactly as before. The genie himself would make his
appearance at odd times; and in the dark there would be talking and
conversation indistinctly heard, so that nothing could be definitely
made out of them. One day the mistress took the slave girl, and fled
with her to her (own) mother’s house; and then everything was out of
joint there. There were sounds and movements, and dashing and breaking
of things, and clothes burning. So they fled next to a small quiet
Buddhist nunnery. But bad as things were before, here they were worse;
and the master was at his wits’ end, all his means being exhausted to
no purpose. After about half a year of this he took the girl and sold
her to a villager in the neighbouring district of Tʻsze Kʻe, and his
wife had peace at last. The villager however found the girl an
intolerable nuisance, and when he wanted to sell her no one would buy
her; so he drove her out into the street. But nobody would have
anything to do with her there either, and she turned to begging. Then
her master had peace and quietness.
There are many more stories about the Woo-tung-shên (五通神). It appears
from the Tsze-pu-yu (子不語) that in one village in Sze-chuan he required
a young girl for a wife every year, and that the girl chosen became
possessed by this evil spirit.
The active possession which induces a sort of ecstatic frenzy, and
vents itself by bodily exertion is quite familiar to the Chinese.
Persons under this influence are known as “devil dancers,” and to a
great extent act the part of media for those who desire to make
enquiries from the other world or induce the assistance of spirits to
heal the sick. When devil dancers are called in, a feast is prepared in
their honour. The head dancer, accompanied by pupils who are learning
the art, presents himself at the house and having done justice to the
viands provided commences by burning incense, while enquiries are made
as to what is amiss. Some of the attendants then seat themselves with
drums, bells, &c., and begin a sort of musical accompaniment to which
the dancers keep time. Presently the music quickens; the dancers
increase their speed until the whole party are almost convulsed with
their efforts. Suddenly the leading dancer falls exhausted to the
ground. Here for a few moments he lies as if lifeless. Presently he
raises himself up and begins to speak. Questions are put to him and he
describes the disease of the sick man, the remedies he ought to adopt,
&c. When all the questions are answered he again falls as if exhausted,
and is gradually brought back to ordinary consciousness.
Mr. Gardner states that in Manchuria “they do not ordinarily observe
the custom of inviting their neighbours’ spirits, but the devil-dancers
are far better skilled in their art. The chief, with a belt of bells,
stands up to dance with two of his pupils on each side. If he has not
four pupils, some from the family must make up the number. The
devil-dancers present many varieties and various ways of calling on the
spirits. Thus, for instance, the chief says his demon is a white tiger.
A whole pig must be cooked for him. He must get two children, one in
each hand, to go with him to eat pig out of the boiling caldron. He
assumes himself to be a tiger and thrusts his head down to his neck in
the boiling water, and bites a mouthful off for his young whelp in his
right hand, then a thrust and a bite for the whelp in his left hand,
and finally a thrust and a bite for himself. This over, he commences
the dance. Most of the class just described are men, but there are
women also who are devil-dancers. They never condescend to go about.
Those who seek their assistance must go to them. In seeking their aid,
the suppliant takes with him presents of incense and paper money to
worship the demons, besides valuable presents of bread, red cloth, and
red silks. These neither dance nor beat drums nor ring bells, but sit
and commence a slow shaking as from ague; then yawn, gape, and at last
shake so violently that the teeth rattle in their gums; then they fall
into a fit, like the former class. They tell the suppliant to return
home and place a cup on the window outside, and the right medicine will
be put into it by a spirit. The suppliant is at the same time made to
vow that he will contribute to the worship of the particular demon,
whose power and intervention they now invoke, and that he will also
contribute towards some temple in the neighbourhood.”
The impostors who gain their living in the way above described are of
course mere ordinary mortals whose power of simulating hysteria and
epilepsy easily imposes upon the masses. But the Chinese believe in the
existence of a class who are human only in their outward appearance.
They are supposed to be veritable demons specially sent from the spirit
world to warn mankind of the consequences which may follow indulgence
in evil. A Minister of State during the time of the Tʻang is alleged to
have been one of these demons, and legends illustrative of his powers
are still to be met with in the collections of popular tales to be
found in every book-stall. It does not appear that the old English
belief as to witches was very remote from this demon theory. In one
case we read of a witch being hunted for in a salt box, it being
supposed that she possessed the diabolical power of changing her shape
to any extent. But the whole subject of Western witchcraft is so wide
that space forbids my even entering upon it—to say nothing of the fact
that most readers are fully acquainted with the subject.
It is somewhat odd to find—and one is puzzled to know whether the fact
is complimentary to Christianity or the reverse—that in those parts of
China to which missionary effort has penetrated, a popular belief
exists in the power of Christian exorcism. Missionaries of all
denominations know of cases in which either they or their converts have
been called in “to cast out the devil” supposed to possess a patient.
Were this to be accepted as a tribute to their powers as real
intercessors with the Creator, the fact would be gratifying; but it is
to be feared that the confidence thus evinced turns rather on the
popular belief that Christian relations with the Satanic hierarchy are
uncommonly intimate. Be this as it may, the fact remains that converts
are classed with the native exorcists. Most places of any pretension
have demon shrines to which the friends of those afflicted resort in
the first instance. Offerings are here made to demons of all
descriptions—not merely to those which take possession of men, but to
those of floods, drought [134] and pestilence. It is when supplications
at such shrines are useless that exorcists are consulted.
Exorcists are of various kinds. Spiritualists, such as those already
described, are frequently called in, their success being various.
Taoist priests find more favour with some people, and their pretensions
are not one whit inferior to those of the more orthodox media.
Conjurors of this sort, says a writer before quoted, “sit on mats and
are carried by invisible power from place to place. They ascend to a
height of 20 or 30 feet and are carried to a distance of 4 or 5 li. Of
this class are those who, in Manchuria, call down fire from the sky in
those funerals where the corpse is burnt. These conjurors not only use
charms but recite incantations, make magic signs and use some of those
strange substances which the astrologer uses to keep away evil
influences.” The class of so-called doctors also enjoy the reputation
of being able to cast out evil spirits, and their modus operandi is
thus described:—“They use needles to puncture the tips of the fingers,
the nose, and the neck. They also use a pill made out of ai tsau 艾草 and
apply it in the following manner: The thumbs of the two hands are tied
tightly to each other. The two big toes are also tied to each other in
the same manner. Then one pill is put on the two big toes at the root
of the nails and the other at the root of the thumb nails. At the same
instant the two pills are set on fire and there they are kept until the
flesh is burnt. Whether in the application of the pills or in the
piercing of the needles the invariable cry is—‘I am going, I am going
immediately. I’ll never dare to come back again. Oh have mercy on me
this once; I’ll never return.’” All the above-mentioned practitioners
may however fail, and as a last resort a professional exorcist, neither
medium, priest, nor doctor, is called in. The men who follow this as a
profession pretend to singular experiences. As the recognized enemies
of evil spirits these latter never cease to persecute them. They are
mysteriously pinched and beaten by the Puck-like emissaries of ghostly
tormentors. Stones are thrown at them by unseen beings, and spirit
hands seize and attempt to drown them if they incautiously venture into
running water. To counteract these influences they always carry about
their persons amulets of which the spirits stand in dread. Their first
act when called in is to paste written charms upon the windows and
doors of the room in which they operate. They then recite certain
formulæ and are sometimes answered by the spirits, who promise to cease
troubling the patient in future.
As with us there is a sovereign Chinese charm against witches. Sir
Walter Scott, in his Old Mortality, refers to the popular belief that
they can only be shot with silver bullets. A Chinese receipt given in
the Rites of Chow is as follows: “If you wish to kill this Shên, take a
certain piece of wood with a hole in it: insert a piece of ivory in the
hole, making the form of a cross and throw it into the water: thus the
Shên will die and the deep become a hill.” Certain officers were in old
times appointed to “hoot at,” “shoot,” and “kill” those spirits (shên)
which were injurious.
The popular identification of the cat with matters pertaining to
witchcraft in Europe is well known, and it is interesting to find that
the Chinese assign to it a somewhat similar connection. As with us the
vulgar believe that witches can change themselves into cats, [135]
though the hare, and more especially the fox, are reputed to be their
more favourite disguises. But the demoniacal attributes of a cat’s
ghost are more singular. In Section I. of the Che Wên Luh (誌聞錄) occurs
the following notice [136]: “At Leong Chow in the province of Kansuh
the people sometimes do homage to the ghost of a cat. The same thing is
mentioned in the history of the North. The way they proceed with this
monstrous thing is first to hang the cat, and then perform certain
ceremonies of fasting and requiems for seven weeks, when the spiritual
communication is established. This is afterwards transferred to a
wooden tablet, and put up behind the door, where the owner of the cat
honours it with offerings. By the side of it is placed a bag about five
inches long, intended for the cat’s use. From time to time it goes and
steals people’s things, and then, about the fourth watch of the night
before cock crowing, the bag is amissing. After a little while it is
hung up on the corner of the house, and the person uses a ladder to
fetch it down. When the mouth of the bag is opened, and the bag
inverted over a chest, as much as two hundred catties of rice or peas
are got out of it, so much does the depraved imp manage to make the
little space hold. Those who serve it always get rich very fast.”
A certain prefect once received a birthday present of rice from a
friend. It weighed over a thousand catties and was put into a large
cask. Several days after the prefect sent a man to divide it out, when
it was noticed that the top of the flour was all in a crust like paper,
while below it was clean gone. The man, in a fright, told the prefect,
who sent an officer to enquire into the matter. It was then found that
behind the prefect’s residence there was a person who practised
sacrificing to this kind of cat. The officer found out the image and
severely chastised it in the hall with forty blows, and also flogged
its owner. He then laughed and sent them off. After this, as the story
goes, the Shin had no efficacy. Choo-tzu says—“The spirituousness
(Ling) of Shên is the result of the accumulated earnestness of the
people—there is really no Shên. When one turns his back upon it the
spirituousness is immediately dispersed. Therefore while the people
honor it the Shin keeps its place, but you may scatter it with a kick.”
Tigers also figure as demoniacs or ghosts. In the same work as that
above quoted from a story relates how a benighted traveller suddenly
observed amongst the brushwood a brilliant light and a man in red
clothes, with a golden crown and armour of rare brightness, and before
and behind him a regular retinue of followers. The traveller was
astonished, and, wondering what mandarin it could be, hid himself in
the wood. Next day he asked the natives of the place who it could have
been. They told him it was the tiger ghost of the mountains. “When he
wishes to eat people up he puts off his clothes and is changed into a
striped tiger. He then advances with a great roar and the traveller is
instantly torn in pieces.” “You,” said they, “have had a wonderful
escape.”
Nor are tigers alone in this regard. The ghosts of the “green ox” and
“black fowl” [137] are mentioned in native legends; while a yet more
fantastic extract narrates that “the carp as soon as its scales number
360 is caught and carried away by dragons; but if every year a shên be
placed to guard it, it cannot be carried away. This shên is a
tortoise.” [138]
Dragons again furnish their quota of ghostly representatives, and the
following legend accounts for the popular belief. “During the reign of
an emperor of the Tʻang dynasty, the dragon god of rain had greatly
offended the Supreme god, and orders were consequently given to the
prime minister to behead him on such and such a day. On the night
before the execution, the dragon god of rain appeared in a dream to the
Emperor and begged him to intercede on his behalf and exercise his
influence over his minister. The Emperor promised he would. The
following day the Emperor invited his minister to play chess with him.
He hoped he would forget the time, and that the dragon god would thus
be saved. As the hour drew nigh the minister got very sleepy. The
Emperor seeing this, said nothing about the dragon god, but let the
minister sleep. Suddenly, the latter jumped up and said, ‘I must behead
immediately;’ and right between them a dragon’s head fell from the sky.
The King fell back with fright and was taken ill. That night the
dragon’s ghost appeared to him in a dream and threatened him severely
for this breach of promise, insisting on bringing the case up before
the judge of the lower regions. The Emperor explained, begged
forgiveness and made a promise, the results of which remain to this
day. He engaged to honour the dragon god by having all his high
officers and the great people of the land to carry the dragon above
their heads. The plan adopted was to place a dragon’s head on every
palace roof, so that when the gentry and officials were at home, they
had a dragon’s head over them. The head seen so often on temples and
palaces is said to have had this origin.” In those days, adds the
account from which the foregoing is quoted, the demons had such
unlimited power to transform themselves that a son would not leave his
father, or a husband his wife, without secret tickets, which they
carried about with them and compared on meeting. If a person was unable
to produce the ticket he was believed to be a demon in human form. This
is the origin of the proverb: “If your ticket be lost, you are
hopeless.”
But of all known animals the fox plays the principal part in Chinese
demonology. European folk-lore assigns a prominent place to the
were-wolves (Germ. Wehrwolf, Port. Lobis-homem), which are even now
believed by the superstitious peasantry of many countries to haunt
their native forests. Well, in China we find the same idea in a
slightly different form. The fox takes the place of the wolf, and
“fairy foxes” play an important part in every native collection of
supernatural tales. The belief in their existence dates from remote
antiquity, though more prevalent in Northern than in Southern China,
the inhabitants of the latter taking the doings of genii more
especially as the basis of their fairy lore. There is however this
difference between the were-wolf and the fairy fox:—that whereas the
former is invariably malicious, the latter may be either beneficent or
malignant. In many of the tales the fox is only transformed (as in the
well-known nursery story of “Beauty and the Beast”) into human shape
after making acquaintance with its host. “At the age of 50 the fox can
take the form of a woman, and at that of 100 can assume the appearance
of a young and beautiful girl. When 1000 years old he is admitted to
the heavens and becomes the celestial fox.” [139]
In and about Peking the belief in foxes having power to assume a human
shape flourishes perhaps more thoroughly than in any other part of the
empire, though similar stories are told throughout the eighteen
provinces. The Liao-chai-chih-yi (聊齋志異), a collection of tales
published in 1765, abounds with narrations of this nature, many of the
most curious, unfortunately, being unsuitable for publication in an
English dress. But the whole subject has been so fully dealt with in
accessible publications that the extended notice which the subject
would permit is unnecessary. Dr. Birch, of the British Museum, wrote an
interesting paper on the subject of Fairy Foxes [140] in No. III., of
the Chinese and Japanese Repository (1863), which was followed by a
notice from the pen of the well-known sinologue Mr. W. F. Mayers, in
No. III., of Vol. I., of Notes and Queries on China and Japan (1867).
The most complete essay on the subject, however, which has yet appeared
was written by Mr. T. Watters, and read before the North China Branch
of the Royal Asiatic Society in March 1873. That accurate and
painstaking scholar thus opens his remarks on the subject:—
“Chinese philosophers seem to be agreed in attributing to Reynard a
long life, some making the number of his years 800 and others extending
it even to a thousand. This power of prolonging life they suppose to
result from the animal’s living in caves and holes where it is shut out
from the sun. The vital powers can thus operate free from disturbance
and the wearing effect of the sun’s heat and light. The fox, badger,
mole and some other cave-dwelling animals are all grouped together as
enjoying long life. The Chinese are not alone in thus regarding the
exclusion of light and air as tending to prolong existence. Not to
refer to others, our own Bacon says:—‘A life in caves and holes, where
the rays of the sun do not enter, may perhaps tend to longevity; for
the air of itself unexcited by heat has not much power to prey upon the
body. Certainly on looking back, it appears from many remains and
monuments that the size and stature of men were anciently much greater
than they had been since, as in Sicily and some other places; and such
men generally lived in caves. Now there is some affinity between length
of age and largeness of limbs. The cave of Epimenides likewise passes
current among the fables.’”
The use of the several parts of the fox’s body in the Chinese
pharmacopeia is followed by an account of the Chinese opinion of his
cunning, in which we read as follows:—
“Like most Western nations the Chinese ascribe to the fox a cunning,
crafty disposition by which he can disarm suspicion on the part of the
very animals which constitute his prey.... The notion about the fox’s
caution is put to practical use in the North of China, for it has been
observed that when he is crossing a frozen river or lake he advances
very slowly and deliberately, putting his head down close to the ice
and listening for the sound of water beneath. Accordingly when in the
early spring the traveller fears the stability of the ice, if he
observes on its surface traces of the fox’s footsteps he may proceed
any without apprehension. One can easily see what an opportunity is
presented here again to the Chinese mind for the exercise of
myth-making ingenuity. Below the ice is the region of the Yin or female
element—the dark world of death and obscurity—while above it is the
region of the Yang or male element—the bright world of life and
activity. Accordingly it has come to pass that the fox is represented
as living on the debatable land which is neither the earth of life nor
the Hades of death. His dwelling place on the earth is among the tombs,
or actually, rather, within the tomb, and the spirits of the deceased
often occupy the body. Thus he enables ghosts of the dead to return to
life or himself performs their terrible behest—visiting upon living men
and women the iniquities they have committed against those now dead,
and by this means bringing peace and rest to the souls of the latter
which would else be travelling and troubling for ever.”
From the numerous stories given by Mr. Watters in illustration of the
popular belief in the fox’s powers of transformation, I take only the
following:—“It is as a pretty girl that the fox appears most frequently
and does most mischief. Disguised as a woman it is always young and
handsome, generally wicked, but on rare occasions very good. At times
it puts on the garb and appearance of some one well known, but who is
either dead or at a great distance. An accomplished scholar who resides
in a village about twenty miles from Foochow told me not long ago a
story which affords an illustration of this personation of particular
individuals. A friend of his had ill-treated and, as was supposed,
secretly killed a pretty young wife and married another. Soon after
this latter event the house was reported to be haunted and no servant
would remain in the family. The first wife’s apartments were the worst
of all, and this part of the premises had to be abandoned. Now one day
my friend was reading with the master of the house in the works of
Chuhsi, and they came to the passage which treats of ghosts and
spirits. They then ceased reading and entered into a conversation on
the subject, and the story of the haunted chambers was related. My
friend laughed at and reproached the weakness which made a scholar
believe in ghosts, and finally the two agreed to remove to that portion
of the dreadful rooms. Before they had been seated here a long time,
strange sounds became audible and soon the pit-pat of a woman’s steps
was heard. The door opened without any noise, and in walked the
murdered woman clothed as of old. The blood forsook the two men’s
faces, speech fled their lips, and had it not been for the law of
gravity their pigtails would have stood on end. There they sat
paralyzed with mute awe and gazing on the spectre, which went pit-pat
over the boards looking neither to right nor left until it reached the
corner in which was a small wash-hand-stand with a basin of water. She
took the basin in her hand and walked steadily with it over to the man
who had been her husband, presenting it to him, when he instantly
uttered a terrible scream and fell backwards. Then the spectral woman
walked away and her patter was heard along the boards until she reached
the outer door. My friend summoned up courage to go out and make
investigation, but no human creature had been stirring, and only the
fox which came almost daily had been seen on the premises. The house
has been abandoned, the owner has gone elsewhere, but my friend
believes that the ghost of the murderer’s wife will torment him by
means of a fox daily until it brings him to the grave.”
It would be easy to multiply stories of this nature, but their
narration would unduly swell the limits of the chapter, while those who
are curious on the subject can easily refer to Mr. Watters’s paper. I
prefer therefore to turn to the analogies with Chinese belief presented
elsewhere. Neither amongst the Semitic nor Aryan races can I find, in
the authorities at my command, that any demoniacal power has ever been
attributed to the fox. No reference to the animal appears in Brand, and
in Continental Europe the wolf alone figures in fairy tales as the
dangerous and crafty enemy of man. But we learn on the authority of Dr.
Macgowan that “when the Pilgrim Fathers landed in Massachusetts, they
found the Indians, especially those of Naragannset, deeply imbued with
fox superstitions, many of them similar to those mentioned above.”
Notices of these are found at considerable length in the works of the
Rev. Mr. Elliot, known as the “Apostle of the Indians.” In Japan,
again, we find fox-myths a mighty power in the State. Dr. Macgowan
describes a primer—the first book put into the hands of Japanese
children; it was profusely illustrated with wood-cuts, in which was
depicted in full detail the progress of the Fox’s courtship. Thus, even
in the education of childhood, the fox-myth weaves itself into the
texture of Japanese thought. The fox was understood to be most
mischievously inclined, and was especially mischievous in its domestic
relations. It was believed, in Japan, to be no uncommon incident for a
fox to transform itself into a charming young woman, who got married to
some loving Japanese swain and had a family. By-and-bye something went
awry in the domestic experiences, on which the mischievous fox-elf
resumed her foxhood, and all her progeny did the same, and scampered
off to their homes in dead men’s tombs, leaving the late happy husband
and father desolate and wretched. A recent newspaper paragraph, by the
way, describes a murder committed at Chikuzen in which the murderer was
discovered to be insane. Different members of his family, for three
generations back, had gone mad, it was said, in consequence of one of
their ancestors having injured a fox!—So much for the fox, thus
summarily dismissed inasmuch as other writers have dealt so fully with
his alleged powers.
Leaving the animal, for the mineral, world we note that even stones
possess the reputation of being inhabited by spirits. A well-known
Taoist legend relates that Chang Liang, a counsellor of the founder of
the Han dynasty, derived his knowledge from a sage who was eventually
metamorphosed into a yellow stone. Another legend tells how one of the
immortals kept a flock of sheep who were changed to stone, but
reassumed their proper shape at a word from their shepherd. Mr. W. F.
Mayers, in his article on Canton in the Treaty Ports of China and
Japan, thus describes the Legend from which Canton derives its
soubriquet of the “City of Rams”:—“In the temple of the ‘Five Genii’
were until lately the stone images of five (supernatural) rams, but
these latter were destroyed in a conflagration which consumed the rear
building in which they stood some three years since. The legend with
reference to the foundation of this temple is that, some twenty
centuries ago, five shepherds were seen on the site where the building
now stands, who suddenly became transformed into an equal number of
rams, while these again instantly changed into stone, a voice being
heard at the same time proclaiming that, so long as these supernatural
objects should be worshipped on this spot, the prosperity of the
adjoining city should endure. From that day forward (runs the story)
these images have remained on the identical spot, and it is certain
that from time immemorial they have been looked upon with superstitious
reverence, nor is it the less remarkable that the destruction of their
shrine should coincide so closely with the actual decline in the
prosperity of the city. The stones were almost shapeless blocks of
granite, about eighteen inches high and the same in length, with some
rude attempt at sculpture in the form of a ram’s head. From them and
their attendant legend Canton derived its soubriquet of the City of
Rams (羊城), but the legend itself is traced by Chinese philosophers to
an accidental resemblance between the word signifying ‘ram’ or ‘sheep’
and the ancient designation of the province of Kwangtung. This is a
striking corroboration of Professor Müller’s dictum that all myths are
merely amplifications of some forgotten sound.”
A popular superstition recounts that in Lʻien-chow, in the province of
Kwang-si, when any person walking, happens to hit his foot against a
stone, and afterwards falls sick, his family immediately prepares an
offering of fruit, wine, rice and incense; and proceeding to the spot,
bow down and worship, after which the person gets well. They imagine
that the stone is possessed by a demon. Gamblers frequently pray to
stones thus possessed for “luck.”
IX.—ELVES, FAIRIES, AND BROWNIES.
An accurate definition of the Chinese idea of elves and fairies is
somewhat difficult. In many cases the word shin 神, spirit, or, as some
will have it, God—can only be translated by “elf” or “brownie,” while
on other occasions one is puzzled under what category to place
creatures who play too important a part in Chinese belief to be omitted
from these pages, while strictly answering to nothing known in the
West. China, at all events, boasts an infinity of beings who are
alleged to possess the general characteristics of our local sprites. As
with us they are sometimes malicious and sometimes merely playful. But
I fancy that, in the main, a more stern air of purpose runs through
Chinese than through European fairy legend. The wildest native
inventions have never endowed the fairy community with, “houses made
all with mother-o’-pearl, an ivory tennis-court, a nutmeg parlour, a
sapphire dairy-room, chambers of agate, &c., &c.” [141] Still less do
we find anything resembling Shakespeare’s Queen Mab:—
“Her waggon spokes made of long spinner’s legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider’s web
The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film.” [142]
We hear little amongst the Chinese of fairy sprites whose highest aim
is mere amusement, their action being usually, as with a certain class
of brownies in our own fairy pantheon, malignant. It is, by the way,
interesting to note that while the words alp and alf (Swedish and
English elf) equally signify a mountain, or demon of the mountains,
[143] the Chinese most frequently assign a mountainous locality to the
homes of their fairy folk. The celebrated mountain Kwʻên Lun (崑崙)
(usually identified with the Hindoo Kush) is said to be peopled with
fairies who cultivate upon its terraces the “fields of sesamum and
gardens of coriander seeds” which are eaten as ordinary food by those
who possess the gift of Longevity. Here too is the “Lake of Gems” on
whose borders dwells the fairy mother Si wang mu (西王母) and beside whose
waters flourishes the kʻiung shu or tree of life, described as 10,000
cubits in height, 1800 feet in circumference and supposed to bear fruit
only once in 3,000 years. This fruit is bestowed by the fairies on
their favourites, who thus become immortal. Other receipts for the
“Elixir of Life” are peach-tree gum mixed with the powdered ash of the
mulberry, and tan 丹 the elixir of gold, or tan sha 丹砂 the common name
for cinnabar.
There are some curious resemblances between Chinese and Western
superstitions on the subject of storm-fiends or fairies. Thus the
storm-raiser in China is not unlike his prototype in Scotland. Sir
James Melville in his Memoirs tells us that “the spirit or devil that
helped the Scottish witches to raise a storm in the sea of Norway was
cold as ice, and his body hard as iron; his face was terrible, his nose
like the beak of an eagle, great burning eyes, his hands and legs
hairy, with claws on his nails like a griffin.” The Chinese demon of
the storm is thus described in the Shan hai ching 山海經. “In Daylight
mountain dwells the shên called Ke-mung. His shape is like a man with a
dragon’s head. He wanders about continually in the depths of the Chang
river, and whenever he comes over or goes in there is sure to be a
violent storm and rain.”
Fairies in China indeed, as with us, usually possess the attribute of
beauty. A well-known Chinese legend relates how two friends wandering
amongst the ravines of their native mountains in search of herbs for
medicinal purposes come to a fairy bridge where two maidens of more
than earthly beauty are on guard. They invite them to the fairy land
which lies on the other side of the bridge, and the invitation being
accepted they become enamoured of the maidens, and pass what to them
seems a short though blissful period of existence with the fairy folk.
At length they desire to revisit their earthly homes and are allowed to
return, when they find that seven generations have lived and died
during their apparently short absence, they themselves having become
centenarians. [144] Another version of the story is found in the Liao
chai chih yi. About A.D. 60 or 70 two friends named Yüan Chao and Liu
Chʻên when wandering amongst the Tʻien-tʻai mountains lost their way,
and after wandering about for some time at length came upon a fairy
retreat where two beautiful girls received them and fed them on hu ma
胡麻 (hemp, the Chinese haschisch). After spending what seems only a few
days with their hostesses they return home and find to their
astonishment that seven generations have passed away since they made
the acquaintance of the maidens. [145] I may here remark that this Rip
Van Winkle sort of story takes several forms in China, and a slight
digression on this subject may be pardoned. A legend, related of Wang
Chih, one of the patriarchs of the Taoist sect, involves him in a
similar catastrophe with less obvious excuse than in the case of the
two friends above mentioned. [146] Wandering one day in the mountains
of Kü Chow to gather firewood “he entered a grotto in which some aged
men were seated intent upon a game of chess. He laid down his axe and
looked on at their game, in the course of which one of the old men
handed him a thing in shape and size like a date stone, telling him to
put it into his mouth. No sooner had he tasted it than ‘he became
oblivious of hunger and thirst.’ After some time had elapsed, one of
the players said, ‘It is long since you came here, you should go home
now!’ whereupon Wang Chih proceeding to pick up his axe found that its
handle had mouldered into dust. On repairing to his home he found that
centuries had passed since the time when he had left it for the
mountains, and that no vestige of his kinsfolk remained. Retiring to a
retreat among the hills he devoted himself to the rites of Taoism, and
finally attained to immortality”—a very un-Van-Winkle-like termination
to the legend.
The striking resemblance of these to legends popular throughout Europe
needs no demonstration, they being in fact identical with Erse, Gaelic
and Teutonic stories yet related in their respective neighbourhoods.
The bridge in the first story is described as the “Azure bridge,” the
fairy home being known as the “Jaspar city.” “Yao chi” or the “Jaspar
lake” is the name given to a sheet of water which it is believed forms
one of its chief attractions, and to speak of a Chinese lady as “a
nymph of the Jaspar lake” is to pay her the highest compliment for
purity and beauty.
The somewhat particular, and at times pugnacious, “Brownie” is supposed
to exist in China. Readers acquainted with our north-country folk-lore
will be aware that a practice exists in many parts of the country of
setting out milk &c. for the consumption of some household brownie, who
performs willing labour for the benefit of its entertainer, the one
proviso being that the brownie’s operations are never to be overlooked
by mortal eye. It is curious, in this connection, to find such a
Chinese legend as the following recorded (Tʻan ching 談徵, vol. 4):—“In
the Tsʻê dynasty there was one Chang Ching, who went out one night and
saw a woman on the south corner of his house who beckoned him to come
to her; and when he came she said: ‘This is your honour’s mulberry
ground, and I am the shên of this place. If you will make next year, in
the middle of the first moon, some thick congee, and present it to me I
will engage to make your mulberry trees a hundred times more
productive.’ Having said this she disappeared. Ching made the congee
and afterwards had a great crop of silkworms. Thence arose the practice
of making thickened congee on the 15th of the first moon.” Of the more
truculent class of brownies we also hear a good deal in China. In an
article on “Gunpowder and arms in China,” published in a recent volume
of the N. C. B. R. A. S. Transactions, the author, Mr. W. F. Mayers,
quotes from the Shin-i-king the following: “Among the hills in the
Western parts [of China?] there exist beings in human shape, a foot or
more in height, who are by nature very fearless. If attacked [or
offended] they cause men to sicken with [alternate] heat and cold. They
are called Shan sao.” It was to frighten these brownies that the
practice of burning bamboos, now-a-days substituted by fire-crackers,
(as already alluded to,) was adopted. Another account makes the
Shan-sias or Shan-sao, to be a species of bird which when attacked
summons tigers to its aid and burns down dwelling houses. In any case
these beings bear many points of resemblance to our own sprites,
especially those that are malignant. A curious story, which may serve
as the type of many such, is also given in the same volume as that from
which the above is derived, the locale given being Lew-chew, which
until very lately was deemed a dependency of China. It relates how a
fairy in the guise of a beautiful woman is found bathing in a man’s
well. He persuades her to marry him, and she remains with him for nine
years, at the end of which time, despite the affection she has for
their two children, she “glides upwards into a cloud” and disappears.
We find a very similar story in the Arabian nights, and both Germany
and the Shetland islands give us an almost identical legend.
A large proportion of the fairy tales of all countries are of course
what grave scholars denominate “puerile”; but I need hardly apologise
for giving the two following, which illustrate both the idea of
diminutive stature attributed to fairies and the yet more common
endowment of animals and insects with fairy power. In the work (Tʻan
ching) above quoted from we read that the Emperor Yuen Tsung of Tʻang
had imperial ink called Dragon fragrance. One day he saw in the ink
little Taoist priests like flies walking about, and they called to him,
“Live for ever! Your servants are the spiritual essence of ink, the
ambassadors of the black pine. Whoever in the world has literary
cultivation must have twelve of us dragon guests in his ink.” This is
not badly matched by the following: “A youth while sleeping was
accosted by a maiden who asked him to accompany her for protection
against some menaced danger, telling him she was a princess in
disguise; but he turned away from her. Soon afterwards he heard the
noise of humming and saw entangled in the web of a spider a bee about
to be devoured. He released the bee, placed it upon the ink-slab, when
by the impression of its feet it left the character “Grateful” and flew
away. He followed it with his eyes and saw it enter a honey-comb
suspended above. The disguised princess was the bee.” Sir John Bowring,
who gives this story in almost the same words, adds, “It is easy to
fancy that the character or sign meaning ‘Gratitude’ could be made by
the impress of a bee’s feet.” I fear that the learned ex-governor of
Hongkong was in this instance indulging in an exaggeration not unusual
with him.
Chinese popular stories also abound with references to “kelpies” such
as in Scotland are reported to haunt fords and ferries. A not less
popular belief credits the monkey tribe with peculiar attributes as
being possessed by fairies who make woman-stealing an ordinary
avocation—thus affording a curious parallel to a South-African
superstition. In the History of the White Monkey, by Kung Tʻsing, we
read that a man of Leang, who had a very pretty wife, was travelling
and came to pass some time at Chang-toh. Warned by the people of the
place that a local shên was given to stealing females he conceals his
wife in an inner room: but, despite all his precautions, on the second
night in the fourth watch she is abducted. After seeking her high and
low amidst great perils he at length comes to a stone door in a
mountain facing the East, and learns from women passing in and out that
his wife is within. To effect her deliverance he is advised to provide
two kilderkins of spirits, ten dogs and several pounds of hemp. With
this the women in the cave promise to attempt the shên’s capture. The
shên accordingly sees and devours the dogs and drinks the spirits, when
he is securely bound with the hemp. The husband being called in, finds
an enormous monkey bound hand and foot to the bed, and Ngau-yang Hih
(the husband) kills him, thus releasing all the females in his power.
Fairies who embody the powers of nature are firmly believed in. “The
Emperor Liang when tired fell asleep in the sunshine and dreamed that
he was visited by a woman of celestial beauty. He asked whence she came
and who she was. ‘I live on the terrace of the Sun on the Enchanted
Mountain. In the morning I am a cloud, in the evening a shower of
rain.’” The popular credence which this legend obtains argues a very
deep-seated belief in the fairy-like attributes of representatives of
the powers of nature, and shows a close analogy to the Western legend
of the “Spirit of the Mist.”
But the Chinese people other spheres with Fairy inhabitants; and there
is a touch of the imaginative in such beliefs which rather induces
sympathy with than hostility to their tenour. The universal legend of
the Man in the Moon takes in China a form that is at least as
interesting as the ruder legends of more barbarous peoples. The
“Goddess of the Palace of the Moon,” Chang-o, appeals as much to our
sympathies as, and rather more so than, the ancient beldame who in
European folk-lore picks up perpetual sticks to satisfy the vengeful
ideas of an ultra-sabbathaical sect. Mr. G. C. Stent has aptly seized
the idea of the Chinese versifier whom he translates:—
“On a gold throne, whose radiating brightness
Dazzles the eyes—enhaloing the scene,
Sits a fair form, arrayed in snowy whiteness.
—She is Chang-o, the beauteous Fairy Queen.
Rainbow-winged angels softly hover o’er her
Forming a canopy above the throne,
A host of fairy beings stand before her
Each robed in light and girt with meteor zone.”
Making every allowance for the polish of translation, the foregoing
verses intimate a delicacy of perception that raises Chinese fairy
folk-lore to the level of our own. It is scarcely necessary to quote,
from European sources, verses which in sentiment express a similar
idea.
Fairy Tales abound in Chinese resembling those in Arabic folk-lore. A
very well-known legend relates how a celebrated musician, aspiring to
wed a princess who played so exquisitely on the flute that all the
birds, even to the eagle, came down from heaven to listen to her, was
accepted, on shewing proof of this ability as her husband. “Too good to
live,” however, the pair were transformed into genii, and still occupy
a place in the somewhat vast arcana of Chinese gods. Other legends
relate to animals becoming endowed with the gift of speech. Thus
Chwang-tzŭ, the hero of a story which has been popularized by Mr. Stent
under the heading “Fanning the Grave,” is related to have reached a
river, the banks of which were almost dry. Various small fishes
thereupon petitioned him to restore their much-needed
element—water—representing that if he did not do so, they would all
perish; and their request was acceded to. Ireland and Germany both give
us similar legends.
To sum up, I am inclined to the conclusion that no very real
distinction obtains in Chinese folk-lore between the various beings
described in the West as demons, genii and fairies, though, as I have
endeavoured to shew, supernatural creatures, possessing the attributes
of each, are fully believed in. The constant application of the term
shên 神 in this connection seems to me an argument against its adoption
by Christian missionaries to express our own conception of the Creator.
It is singular, by the way, to find that just as we use the word
“spirit” in two different senses when we say “God is a spirit” and “He
is a man of spirit,” the Chinese in like manner make the word shên do
double duty. Of course the argument cuts both ways; but its
inapplicability to the Chinese side lies in the fact that the language
provides no word for the one ultimate cause. Whatever word our
missionaries agree upon must do some violence to the native idea. The
subject is, however, too wide to be more than incidentally touched on
here. Suffice it to say that both in the everyday language of the
people and in popular literature shên conveys the idea of gods,
spirits, fairies or demons only. A careful consideration of this fact
is imperative in any discussion as to its adoption in Christian books
to express the Hebrew “Jehovah.”
X.—SERPENTS, DRAGONS, FABULOUS ANIMALS AND MONSTERS.
The part played in the mythology of the Aryan and Semitic races by the
Serpent and Dragon would have led one to expect a similar concurrence
in the Legendry of China, even if the well-known designation under
which its government is so frequently referred to did not at once
direct attention to the fact. The land of the “Dragon Throne” is indeed
by no means singular in its beliefs in this connection. To say nothing
of the Biblical narrative, the Brahminic Krishna, under his two aspects
of Krishna serpent-wounded in the heel and Krishna standing triumphant
on the head of his arch-enemy, the classic stories of Hercules and the
Hydra, Apollo and Python, Cadmus and the Dragon, the Teutonic myth of
Sigurd and Fafner, or our own legend of St. George, and others which
will be referred to in their proper place, combine to give the serpent
and his congeners an universal celebrity. “Among different forms in use
as an old symbol (says a recent reviewer) none is more mysterious than
the serpent. The animal itself glides out and into holes and corners,
and as it glides you only, perhaps, see a coil of the reptile; so, with
its symbolism, the facts are most difficult to be got at, and the
understanding of them is more difficult still. All nations seem to have
had the serpent as a symbol in some form or another. Perhaps one of the
strangest forms of this creeping thing was that of the Christian
Ophites, who kept a serpent which crawled over the bread of the
sacrament on the altar, and this they considered to be the act of
consecration.” It is hardly necessary, however, to tell students of
Chinese literature or folk-lore that our own assortment of popular
legends and beliefs touching the serpent tribe shrink into
insignificance beside that of the “Middle Kingdom.” The brazen serpent
of Moses has been the lineal progenitor of a succession familiar indeed
to the sons of Han. [147] Confining our attention in the first instance
to serpents proper, let us glance at the vast array of legend which
greets the most superficial enquiry into Chinese beliefs on the
subject.
And, before dealing with its supernatural characteristics, let me note
the healing qualities ascribed to the serpent’s flesh. The skin of the
white spotted snake is used in leprosy, rheumatism and palsy, [148]
while the flesh of other varieties enter largely into the often filthy
prescriptions of native doctors. Though I am not aware that the figure
of a serpent has ever been used in China as with the classical
Esculapius and Hygia, who are represented as bearing a staff round
which is coiled a serpent, as a symbol of health, the snake is a
popular item of the show-part of every native drug store, and the
virtues attributed to its body are at least a reminder of the Western
legend. As a drug, however, it ceases to possess supernatural
qualities. To the living animal are attributed powers not less potent
than to the gods themselves. And the writer encountered an instance of
this superstition when endeavouring some months since to induce his
Chinese assistants in the Hongkong Museum to kill and prepare a fine
specimen of the boa tribe which had been caught on the island.
That evil spirits or human beings compelled by enchantment can assume
the form of snakes, is a deeply-rooted belief, as is also its converse
that mysteriously-gifted serpents can at will present themselves to the
public eye as ordinary mortals. In the “Thunder-peak Pagoda” novel,
already referred to, we find the heroine of the story to be a white
snake who possesses the power of assuming the human form. In the Cavern
of the Winds situated on the Green Mountain near Ching-to-foo in
Sze-chuan “there was,” says the story, “reputed to be a monstrous white
female serpent, who had been there from time immemorial. In this cave
also grew strange flowers and wonderful shrubs. This serpent had
existed for eighteen hundred years, and had never yet done harm to any
living thing. On account of her great age, this white serpent had
attained to a vast degree of knowledge, and was able to work marvellous
spells, and to take the form of a woman, in which condition she adopted
the name of Pĭ-cheu-niang.” Her servant, like herself, was a serpent
and the scene in which the two are for the first time introduced to
each other is described in a way worthy of the Arabian nights:—
“Hang-chow is a most beautiful place. The residences of princes and
nobles are here, and beautiful flower gardens and ancient temples
are scattered all over the place. Among these, the garden of Prince
Chow was pre-eminent for beauty; but Prince Chow had long been
dead, and his beautiful garden was deserted by mankind. In it were
altars, pavilions, and mountains almost equalling in splendour the
gardens of the imperial palace. Here there resided a huge black
serpent, which had been in this place for more than eight hundred
years,—and could also ascend into the clouds, and take the human
form; and when she saw the white serpent coming in, she hurried to
prevent her entrance, saying, “Whence comest thou thus to invade
the privacy of my garden? Dost thou not fear my wrath?” The white
serpent, who had assumed the human form, as had the other, merely
smiled, and said, “Don’t talk about your power, but pay attention
to what I am going to say—I am a powerful white serpent, come from
the mountain cavern of the winds, where I have resided more than
eighteen hundred years; but because I am not so powerful as I could
wish, I have determined to change my abode, wherefore you must let
me take up my residence in this garden—besides this, why should we
quarrel, being both spirits in the form of serpents?” But the black
snake was not so easily pacified, and angrily exclaimed, “This is
my garden, and you are a spirit from some distant place—How then do
you dare thus to deprive me of mine own? If, moreover, you think
yourself more powerful than I am, let us contend together three
times for the mastery.” The white serpent smiled slightly, and
said, “It is no desire of mine that we should contend together, as
I do not wish to injure one of my species; but since you so much
wish it, I will contend with you, but upon this condition only that
whoever shall be victorious in the strife, shall become the
mistress, and that the conquered one shall always act as a slave.
“The black snake, still angry, snatched a sword and cut at the
white serpent, but she, drawing two swords, put them before her in
the form of a cross. In a few minutes the superior talent of the
white serpent became evident, for by muttering a powerful spell,
the sword was snatched from the hand of her adversary by some
invisible means, and she was left defenceless. The black serpent at
this was very much frightened, and kneeling down, respectfully
addressed the other, saying, “Do not contend any longer—I
acknowledge you as my superior, and am willing to serve you as your
slave.” Matters being thus settled so satisfactorily, the mistress
and servant entered the garden together.” [149]
The adventures of those two serpent women and the scrapes into which an
unlucky attachment for the mistress led the hero of the tale, form the
principal features of the plot. I cannot, of course, here follow that
out; suffice it to say that the enchantress brought grief to all
connected with her. But the story presents certain analogies with an
old English legend that are worth noting. The “worm of Spindlestone
Heugh” in Northumberland, was, so the legend says, a beautiful girl
transformed by her step-mother into a loathsome serpent, until her
brother should come to her rescue from beyond the seas. This of course
he eventually does, and the charm is broken.
“He quitted his sword, and bent his bow,
He gave her kisses three;
She crept into her hole a worme
But out stept a ladye.” [150]
The well-known Linton worm or dragon [151] supposed to inhabit the
borders of Roxburghshire, gives us another parallel between a British
and a Chinese belief. From his cave on Linton hill this monster “could
with his sweeping and venomous breath draw the neighbouring flocks and
herds within reach of his fangs.” Again we read, “such was the dread
inspired by the monster’s poisonous breath” that the villagers were
beside themselves with terror. Now we have only to go back to 1867 to
find a story extensively believed throughout the Fuhkien seaboard, in
which the poisonous character of a serpent’s breath is an important
element. [152] It was to the effect that a party of tiger-catchers near
Foochow discovered in the cage which they had constructed to receive
the tiger a monstrous snake with two large horns. Although somewhat
frightened at their unexpected prisoner, they decided on taking him on
board their junk with a view to eventually selling him. A few days
after they had put to sea a thunderstorm came on, and a flash of
lightning struck the junk, breaking open the cage. Away slipped the
monster into the hold, which, being stored with rice and other edibles,
was a decided change for the better in his position. As, however, the
captain and crew were bound to deliver their cargo intact, the former
offered $1,000 to anybody who would go down and kill the snake. Two men
were found to venture, but no sooner did they approach the animal than
“raising his head a little, he hissed out a vapour on them and they lay
dead.” Of course captain and crew immediately deserted the junk, and
she is still reputed to be, like the flying Dutchman’s ship off the
Cape, cruizing around the neighbouring coasts; and so great is the fear
of the serpent’s breath, that no one who has heard the story dare board
a castaway Foochow junk to this day.
Something more than mere traces of serpent worship are to be found
throughout China. The San-chieh temples (三界廟) at Canton are also known
by the name of Chʻing Shê Miao or “Green serpent temples,” the origin
of which name is thus given in a compilation by the well-known author
Chao Yi. [153] “When offerings were made to the god a serpent came out
and ate or drank what was laid before the altar. If any person made a
vow and did not afterwards fulfil it, although he might be hundreds of
li away, serpents would come and claim fulfilment of his promise. These
were commonly called Green Serpent Messengers. At present the most
famous of these temples is that at Wuchow-fu, where scarcely a day
passes on which plays are not performed or sacrifices offered, at the
expense of traders who thus celebrate the fulfilment of their
entreaties at the shrine. At the time of sacrifices being offered a
green serpent does in reality issue forth from the sanctuary or make
its appearance from the rafters, or from within the garments of the
God, to drink the wine and devour the eggs that are placed there
without being deterred at the sight of the persons standing by. After
finishing its meal the creature quietly glides away.” [154] Monsieur de
Beauvoir, in his recent work describing a visit to the East, speaks of
a temple at Canton within the enclosure of which was a clump of trees
near an altar, the residence of a sacred serpent. “A crowd of
worshippers were pressing round the sacred bushes, bringing gifts to
the ugly reptile, a snake two feet long, which crawled about close to
some hot ashes.” I have not identified the temple, but the account is
probably accurate, as native informants confirm it. Yet stronger
evidence of the hold which serpent-worship has over the Chinese mind is
afforded by the fact that during the height of the Tientsin floods, in
the autumn of 1873, Li Hung-chang, a man distinguished for his clear
common sense and administrative ability, joined in offering worship to
a miserable little snake which had been picked up and placed in one of
the temples, afterwards extolling, in a memorial to the Throne, the
divine favour exhibited by the appearance of the wretched reptile. And
in the following year the North-China Herald related an even more
absurd instance of faith in the supernatural attributes of the serpent
tribe. “In this case also,” says the journal in question, “the
memorialist is a man of distinguished ability, which he has given
evidence of both in connection with Foreign and Chinese matters. He
reports wonderful miracles on the part of the river gods, in saving
embankments and helping the men who were at work on them, over and over
again. Apparently the Taiwang are credited with power to make the
waters abate just at the critical moment, but not to avert such
unfortunate crises altogether. The river god is, in every case, a small
water snake, which popular fancy has converted into a deity. The story
of Chen Ching-lung Chang-chün, one of the deities mentioned, is that he
was inspector of the Yellow River, and being unable to repair a breach
in the embankments, on account of the strength of the current, he in
despair threw himself into the river. The water ceased to rise, the
current slackened, and the breach was repaired. Chen was transformed
into a River God for his noble devotedness, and constantly appears in
the shape of a water serpent, to work miracles on behalf of his more
fortunate successors in the difficult duty of checking the outburst of
‘China’s Sorrow.’”
That snakes contain in their heads certain precious stones is an old
belief common to most branches of the human family. [155] A story in a
native book of anecdotes relates how a foreigner passing a
pork-butcher’s shop asks the master what he will take for the bench on
which the pork is exposed. The answer, given in fun, is “fifty taels.”
The foreigner offers to pay the money. This convinces the butcher that
there must be something valuable in the bench, so he declines to sell
it, and carefully puts it by. The foreigner leaves the place and
returns after a year’s absence. Seeing the butcher he asks after the
bench, and, in answer to a very natural enquiry why he deems it so
valuable, informs him that, lodged in a cavity within it, is a snake,
holding in its mouth a precious gem. He further adds that the snake
lives on the blood that soaks through the wood from the raw meat
exposed on it, and that when this supply is cut off the snake will die,
and the gem become worthless. Cursing his own stupidity, the butcher
seizes a hatchet and splits the bench open, finding the snake dead,
while the jewel it undoubtedly holds in its mouth is of the same colour
as the eye of a dried fish. I have chosen this story as illustrating
another point in native folk-lore—the mysterious powers attributed to
foreigners—but may observe that constant allusions are to be found in
Chinese works to the idea of snakes containing precious stones. Now, to
go no further than a file of Indian papers received a few weeks ago, I
find in one of them the following paragraph. “The Lawrence Gazette
indulges in surmises as to the object of the ex-King of Oudh in
collecting snakes. Perhaps,” it says, “he wishes to become possessed of
the precious jewel which some serpents are said to contain, or of that
species of snake by whose means it is said a person can fly in the air.
The jewel referred to (nun) has in all times been a popular myth, but
located variously in the heads of toads, fishes, and even horses.” The
superstition therefore is not confined to the Chinese. Is it not
possible that Shakespere’s allusion to the toad, which,
“Ugly and venomous, wears a precious jewel in his head,”
may have been suggested by this popular belief, though now interpreted
to apply only to the beautiful eye with which the animal is endowed?
The transition from the serpent to the dragon is easy, but appears to
have followed much the same rule in China as in England—there being a
considerable amount of confusion in the legendary lore of both
countries between the two animals. It is indeed somewhat difficult to
exactly say where fact left off, and fancy commenced, to contribute to
the popular portrait of the dragon. China does, in fact, produce an
animal—a harmless species of lizard,—which may well have sat as the
original of the native monster; but its small size (only some two feet
from nose to tail) deprives it of any ferocious semblance. Looking at
the widespread belief in dragons there seems little doubt that the
semi-myth of to-day is the traditional successor of a really once
existent animal, whose huge size, snake-like appearance and, possibly,
dangerous powers of offence made him so terrible that the earlier races
of mankind adopted him unanimously as the most fearful embodiment of
animal ferocity to be found.
Dr. Eitel, in an interesting article on the subject of dragon worship,
[156] expresses his belief that it has sprung from the same form of
snake or naga worship as that still existing in India, Burmah and Siam.
“What strengthens this assertion,” he says, “is the circumstance that I
am enabled to state positively that the Chinese translators of Sanscrit
Buddhist texts invariably rendered the term naga (which has been
identified with cobra di capello,) by the word “lung” (龍) or dragon.
The religious mind of China has never made a scientific distinction
between snake and dragon.” Suffice it to say that China is the oldest
home of dragon worship, the animal being represented as winged and
four-footed, each foot having four (or five) claws—the latter number
being appropriated solely to pictures, embroideries or figures used by
the Imperial Court. Thus a dress with a five-clawed dragon worked on it
can be used by one of Royal blood only. It is noteworthy that the
English dragon is also nearly always represented with wings. For those
who have never read the ballad of the Dragon of Wantley I may quote his
description, to enable a comparison to be drawn between him and his
Chinese brother:—
“This dragon had two furious wings
One upon each shoulder,
With a sting in his tayle, as long as a flayle,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron,
With a hide as tough, as any buff,
Which did him round environ.”
The authentic species of dragon or Lung, has, according to Chinese
belief, a camel’s head, a deer’s horns, a rabbit’s eyes, a cow’s ears,
a snake’s neck, a frog’s belly, a carp’s scales, a hawk’s claws and a
tiger’s palms. The chief distinction between the snake and the dragon
in Chinese eyes is that, while the former is worshipped as a real,
everyday object, the latter is avowedly supernatural. A popular proverb
says, “Dragons bring clouds, and tigers bring winds.” [157] The dragon
is in fact an all-pervading element of every myth relating to the
powers of nature, and its worship is not, when we trace its serpent
origin, surprising.
In no case however does it seem more absurd than when we find it
gravely noticed in official documents. Thus a year or two since an
Edict published in the Peking Gazette stated as follows:—“Li Hung-chang
has addressed to us a memorial, stating that the River Yung-ting has
filled its channel, reporting for punishment the officials who were
engaged on the works, and requesting the appropriate discipline on
himself. He states that much rain fell for several weeks in succession
this year, and the waters in river and lake rose to an unwonted height.
The officers responsible worked day and night to avert danger by
opening and shutting sluices and strengthening works. On the 4th and
5th July the rain came down in bucketfuls, and it became utterly
impossible to do anything; the river overflowed in several places. Li
Hung-chang last year reported that he had caged the dragon, and it is
therefore an inexcusable fault that, in so short a time afterwards,
even allowing several weeks’ rain, the river should have broken out!”
It would be difficult to come across more convincing proof that the
supernatural powers of the dragon over the phenomena of nature were
fully believed in.
Domestic dragon worship again is familiar to every native. The author
of the paper above referred to gives curious details of the ceremonies
observed in worshipping dragon-spirits. Every hill and mountain is
supposed to be inhabited by them, and whenever a new house is to be
erected, a Fêng-shui geomancer is consulted to learn if the location be
within the range of friendly dragon spirits. The house on being
completed has a niche fitted up in it as a shrine for the individual
dragon which protects the destinies of the house. He is installed with
considerable ceremony, and the shrine is worshipped at the same periods
as sacrifices or prayers are offered in the Ancestral Hall. In the case
of houses which have been built for the space of one hundred years (at
the expiration of which period the original virtue and efficiency of
the tutelary dragon is supposed to need reinvigoration) more elaborate
ceremonials are necessary. Three days are devoted to preparation, and
on the fourth the exorcism of evil influences commences. This consists
in magical incantations mumbled in unintelligible language, accompanied
by offerings of frankincense, wine and paper, the whole accompanied by
the beatings of drums and gongs and the blowing of a horn. The chief
wizard then dips his arm into boiling oil or performs some similar feat
to justify his claims as an exorcist, one of the commonest being to
walk unharmed through an enormous fire of blazing charcoal. Another
performance consists in ascending a ladder of swords. One or all of
these being accomplished, the wizard repairs, attended by the
neighbours, to the nearest hill and invokes the dragon spirit to
return, and after announcing his arrival professes to entice him back
to the house. The curious reader will find the ceremonies described at
length in the article from which this is summarized.
The following dragon legend was communicated to the same periodical by
Mr. T. Sampson of Canton, and is worth preservation: “It is a common
expression in Canton, to say that extremely violent gusts of wind
during a typhoon are caused by the passage of a tün mi lung 斷尾龍 or
“bob-tail dragon,” and it is sometimes averred that this animal is
actually seen on such occasions passing through the air; generally
however it is, among educated people, nothing more than an expression
signifying a violent gust of wind, and the story connected with it, if
known at all beyond the district of Sun-ui where it has a local
circulation, is classed with such fables as that of the great sea
serpent which was so long that when at rest a junk had to sail for
several days to traverse its length, and which, on being cut in two by
a steamer, was several hours in discovering the fact, in consequence of
the immense length of the nerves which had to convey to the brain the
sense of the injury inflicted.
“The story however of Ah-Tseung and the dragon, as narrated to me by a
native of Sun-ui, is as follows: In ancient times there was a certain
studious rustic whose name was Ah-Tseung, but whose surname has
unfortunately not been handed down for the benefit of posterity; this
youth having found a young snake took it home with him, and as long as
he lived it was his chief delight to nurture this animal; he made a
nest for it in his book-case, and after every meal he secretly conveyed
food to it; it shared his bed, and was his constant companion; the boy
for a long time kept the matter secret from his parents, but his
teacher having observed his many visits to the book-case, wished to
find out what was the attraction, and on opening it he observed to his
great surprise and alarm, a huge snake filling one of the shelves, for
by this time the snake had become full grown. A few months after this
Ah-Tseung died, whereupon his parents drove the snake away to the
neighbouring hills; on every occasion of ceremonial mourning held by
the parents, and on every anniversary of his death, the snake visited
the home of his departed friend, and after going several times round
the house returned again to the hills; the neighbours felt a natural
repugnance to these periodical visits, and remonstrated with Ah
Tseung’s mother, who herself anxious to get rid of so unwelcome a
visitor, forbade the snake coming to her house any more; heedless of
this command the snake did return; whereupon the mother, with the
intention of frightening it away, brandished a knife at it in a
threatening manner, but in doing so the knife accidentally came in
contact with the animal’s tail and severed off several joints of it.
After this the snake never returned; it retired however to the
Kwai-fung-shàn in the district of Sun-ui, where there is a lake of
about a mau (⅓d of an acre) in extent and of unfathomable depth; indeed
it is asserted by the inhabitants of the neighborhood, that its waters
communicate subterraneously with one of the mouths of the great rivers
of Kwangtung, the Ngaimun, and that any substance thrown into the lake
will reappear in the ocean near that embouchure. In and round this lake
Ah Tseung’s snake has lived to the present day, and its appearance on
the distant hill top, sometimes as a man clothed in white, and
sometimes as a white dragon (an instance of progressive development
without natural selection, its flight through the air causing dragonic
development from the pristine type of an ordinary snake), or the
foaming disturbance of the waters of the lake when he indulges in a
bath, are considered sure indications of an approaching storm.
“Such is the story of Ah Tseung and the dragon. Fabulous as it
undoubtedly is, there may nevertheless be, as is often the case with
the most outrageous fables, a grain of scientific truth in it; the
range of hills in Sun-ui of which the Kwei-fung-shan forms a part, must
exert some influence on typhoons; they are in the track of these
circular storms, and probably their height effects an attractive
influence over them, and their conformation diverts the course of the
storm as it impinges upon them. Hence the fact in the natural history
of typhoons, that they, owing to these causes, frequently pass over
Sun-ui and disturb the waters of the lake in the Kwai-fung hills before
they reach other parts of the common delta of the Kwangtung river, may
be the grain of scientific truth which has given rise to the story of
Ah Tseung and the dragon with an abbreviated caudal extremity.”
If we have no Western legend to answer to that just given, a very close
parallel to a Serpent or dragon myth which has spread throughout Europe
can be found in China. Our popular story of St. George and the Dragon
has numerous parallels in Western folklore. The stories of the laird
who slew the “worme of Linton,” of the knight who killed the Lambton
worm, of the Champion Conyers who delivered Sockburn in Durham from “a
worm, dragon or fiery flying serpent,” and of the plucky Scot named
Martin who in Forfar achieved a victory over a dragon which had
devoured nine maidens, embody the same story in other words.
Scandinavian Folk-lore too abounds with similar stories. But one is
hardly prepared to find the legend existing in China, with a change of
sex indeed on the part of the champion, but otherwise the same in its
general features as our own. Mr. W. F. Mayers, writing in November
1867, drew attention to this fact and furnished the now extinct
periodical so frequently referred to on previous pages with the
following translation from the Kwang-po-wu-chih, a thesaurus of
excerpts compiled towards the end of the sixteenth century: [158] “In
the eastern regions of Yueh Min (the present Fuhkien) there exists a
range of mountains called the Yung Ling, many tens of li in height, in
the north-western recesses of which there abode a mighty serpent, seven
or eight chang (seventy or eighty feet) in length and ten feet in
circumference, which was held in great awe by the people of the
country. At a certain time it signified either to some person in a
dream or to those versed in the art of divination that it lusted to
devour a maiden of the age of twelve or thirteen; and the governors and
men in authority of that region, equally alarmed respecting the
monster, sought out female bond-servants and the daughters of criminals
to satisfy the serpent’s appetite. In the morning of the day in the 8th
moon, after offering sacrifices, the victim was taken to the mouth of
the serpent’s cavern; and at night the serpent suddenly issued forth
and devoured its prey. Year after year this happened, until at length
nine maidens in all had been offered up; and a fresh demand was being
made, but no victim could be obtained. At this time Li Tan, Magistrate
of Tsing Lo, had six daughters and no sons. His youngest daughter,
named Ki 奇, responded to the call and was ready to proceed (to the
cavern), but her parents refused consent. She urged, however, that she
was unable to be of use to her parents, as was Ti Ying (the faithful
daughter of olden times), and being a mere source of useless expense
might as well bring her life to a speedy close, and only requested to
be supplied with a good sword and a dog that would bite at snakes. In
the morning of the day of the eighth month she visited the Temple, with
the sword beside her and the dog provided. She had also previously
prepared several measures of boiled rice mixed with honey, which she
placed at the mouth of the cavern. At night the serpent came forth, its
head as large as a rice stock and its eyes like mirrors two feet
across—when, perceiving the aroma of the mess of rice, it began to
devour it. Ki forthwith let loose her dog which seized the serpent in
its teeth, and the maiden hereupon hacked the monster from behind, so
that after dragging itself to the mouth of its cave it died. The maiden
entered the cavern and recovered the skeletons of the nine previous
victims, whose untimely fate she bewailed. After this she leisurely
returned home, and the prince of Sueh, hearing of her exploit, raised
her to be his Queen.
“Other versions of this history may exist, but the above is the only
one I have met with. The occurrence of a female as the hero is somewhat
remarkable, but in other respects the fact that filial piety and
dexterity in stratagems replace in the Chinese legend the masculine
purity and dauntless courage with which our own traditions invest St.
George, as also the minuteness in detail of the events recorded, are
highly characteristic of the Chinese turn of mind. In any case, this is
probably the earliest existing version of the famous legend.”
So much for dragons, dismissed perhaps with almost too scant notice,
but scarcely needing more elaborate discussion. The third heading of
the present chapter refers to fabulous animals of another description,
and of these Chinese folk-lore presents us with a fair variety. The
Phœnix, for instance, enjoys its classical reputation amongst the
inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom, while tigers, monkeys and elephants
also enjoy the reputation of a wisdom which goes beyond instinct and
more than verges on the domain of humanity. Tailed men and mermaids
furnish native tradition-mongers with numerous stories; and the unicorn
of Chinese myth-land is to all intents and purposes identical with the
celebrated animal mentioned in our nursery rhyme, relating how
“The lion and the Unicorn
Went fighting for the Crown;”
and still “supporting” our royal arms. The ki lin, or Chinese unicorn,
has a stag’s body, a horse’s hoofs, the tail of an ox and a
parti-coloured skin, while from its forehead proceeds a single horn
with a fleshy tip. In this case there is however but little mystery in
the resemblance. So far from agreeing with Dr. Williams as to “the
independent origin of the Chinese account,” [159] there can, I fancy,
be no question that, both we and the Chinese alike derived the idea of
the unicorn from Central Asia, where we have almost historical proof
such an animal once actually existed, if indeed it does not still
inhabit the vast steppes of the continent. [160] The chief superstition
connected with the unicorn in China proper is that one makes its
appearance when a sage is about to be born.
Phœnixes also act as harbingers of the birth of great men, [161] but it
is somewhat difficult to define their shape and colour. Popular native
proverbs allege that “The Phœnix will only alight where there is
something precious.” Another saying declares that “when the phœnix
comes there is prosperity.” The following account of this
universally-believed-in bird, given by Mr. Mayers in his Readers’
Manual, embodies an admirable résumé of Chinese legend on the subject.
The feng or phœnix is, he says, “a fabulous bird of wondrous form and
mystic nature, the second amongst the four supernatural creatures. Very
early legends narrated that this bird made its appearance as a presage
of the advent of virtuous rulers, whose presence it also graced as an
emblem of their auspicious government. One writer describes it as
having the head of a pheasant, the beak of a swallow, the neck of a
tortoise and the outward semblance of a dragon; to which another
version adds the tail of a fish; but in pictorial representations it is
usually delineated as a compound between the peacock and the pheasant,
with the addition of many gorgeous colours. It sate in the court of
Hwang-ti while that sovereign observed the ceremonial fasts; and
according to the Shu King it came with measured gambollings to add
splendour to the musical performances conducted by the great Shun. The
female is called Hwang, and this name, combined with that of the male,
forms the compound Feng Hwang which is usually employed as the generic
designation for the wondrous bird. It is translated phœnix by many
writers. Among the marvels related respecting this creature, it is said
that each of the five colours which embellish the Fêng-hwang’s plumage
is typical of one of the cardinal virtues; and a name is given to each
of the many intonations ascribed to its voice.”
An animal occupying an intermediate position between fact and
fiction—its existence being the one, and its alleged qualities the
other—is known as the Sing-sing 猩猩, a very large species of baboon
found in Cambodia. Its blood is supposed in China to be useful as a
dye; but inasmuch as it of course dries up if the animal is killed, the
Chinese allege that artifice is resorted to by hunters to induce it to
submit to the process of bleeding, and the natives quaintly describe
the (very imaginative) operation. The story is evidently the production
of some Chinese Æsop, containing as it does an admirable satire on the
temptations of the wine cup. But, nevertheless, the animal is really
believed by the vulgar to possess supernatural powers. The account
given is as follows:—“The Sing-sing is remarkably fond of wine; so the
blood-hunters lay a trap for him thus:—Having found the tracks he
frequents, they place in some position where he is sure to see them a
pailful of some intoxicating liquid and a cup, and then conceal
themselves in the vicinity. After a time the Sing-sing discovers the
pail; but after inspecting it mutters, ‘Ah! this is put here by the
blood hunters, but I shan’t be fool enough to drink it; it’s nothing
but poison.’ Moving away for a short time it presently returns,
observing, ‘After all wine is a good thing in itself, if one doesn’t
take too much; it’s very nice, and I shall just try one cup.’ The
animal accordingly takes one cupful and walks away, soon however
returning for a second and a third, finally drinking itself helpless.
The hunters then seize it and place it in a cage, and on its recovery
begin to bargain with it for its liberty. Its blood, to be of any
service, must be voluntarily given, so the hunters demand so many
cupsful as the price of its release. After a good deal of palavering
this is settled; the animal then himself opens a vein, measures out the
quantity agreed on and is released, again to fall a victim to similar
temptation.” The assumption that the baboon can, if it will, hold
converse with mankind is noteworthy as common to most countries whence
the monkey tribes take their origin.
Of course our old friend—I might almost say, in view of the latest
published accounts, our American friend—the Sea Serpent, turns up on
the coasts of China, and the description given of him does not greatly
differ from that recorded elsewhere. According to a popular legend the
Chien Tang river was at one time infested by a great Kiau or sea
serpent, and in 1129 A.D., a district graduate is said to have
heroically thrown himself into the flood to encounter and destroy the
monster. His wife forthwith put an end to her existence also, from
devotion to him, and their virtues were commemorated by a temple
erected for their worship. [162] It has been already noted that most of
the river gods are supposed to appear in the form of water snakes, and
that the sea serpents noticed in Chinese records have always infested
the mouths of rivers. From a tutelary deity to one purely malevolent is
no great step. Other remarkable animals are noted by the writer above
quoted (Dr. D. J. Macgowan) as stated to have visited the same river:
In 488 A.D. a salt inspector discovered near its mouth a “sea-fish
which the tide had left behind. It was more than 300 feet long, of a
black colour, without scales,” and was eaten by its captors. About 120
years ago, again “a huge sea-fish appeared off Chapoo; it followed the
vessels in with the tide and at ebb was unable to return. It measured
one hundred feet in length, was ten feet high and twenty wide.” This is
probably an exaggerated story of a whale, but as the Chinese have a
distinct name for the whale, with which they are fairly familiar, there
remains a possibility of the animal in question being something unknown
to naturalists.
A very singular coincidence between two legends relating to fabulous
fish is to be found in the following. A recent visitor to Nanking thus
describes the basin which formerly decorated the top of the celebrated
porcelain pagoda: “We happened to discover among the ruins an immense
cast iron basin, 39 feet in circumference, which is connected popularly
with the above account of the thunder spirit. This basin was placed
with its mouth upwards on the summit of the pagoda, and hence would
constantly be full of rain water. A bird perched upon the edge of the
basin one day dropped a fish into the water, which grew and grew till
it became a strange monster, exercising such an evil influence over the
neighbourhood that the God of thunder was at length compelled to attack
it, and in doing so struck the tower and partially destroyed it. It was
finally destroyed by the rebels in 1856.” Now if we turn to Henderson’s
Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 248, we find the following story
of the “Heir of Lambton.” Fishing one day in the river Wear he felt
something tugging at his line and thought he had secured a fine fish.
But to his horror he found that he had only caught a worm of unsightly
appearance which he hastily tore from his hook and flung into a well
close by. “A stranger of venerable appearance passing by asked him what
sport he had met with. To which he replied, ‘Why truly I think I have
caught the devil himself. Look in and judge.’ The stranger looked, and
remarked that he thought it boded no good.... Meantime the worm
remained in the well till it outgrew so confined a hiding place. It
then emerged and betook itself by day to the river, and by night to a
neighbouring hill round whose base it would twine itself; while it
continued to grow so fast that it soon could encircle the hill three
times. The monster now became the terror of the whole country side,
&c.” The feat of arms by which this “Lambton Worm” was finally killed
has been before alluded to. But the coincidence between the Chinese and
English legend, in other respects, seemed worth additional notice.
Some of my readers may perchance be interested to learn that the
original home of the mermaid (Ch. sea-woman 海女 hai nü) is almost within
sight of the room in which these notes are being written. The only
specimen of a veritable mermaid I ever saw was Barnum’s celebrated
purchase from Japan, which, so far as could be judged, consisted of a
monkey’s body most artistically joined to a fish’s tail. But the author
of a work entitled Yueh chung chieh wên, or “Jottings on the South of
China,” compiled in 1801, narrates how a man of the district of Sin-an
(locally Sin-on) captured a mermaid on the shore of Ta-yü-shan or
Namtao Island. “Her features and limbs were in all respects human,
except that her body was covered with fine hair of many beautiful
colours. The fisherman took home his prize and married her, though she
was unable to talk and could only smile. She however learned to wear
clothes like ordinary mortals. “When the fisherman died the sea-maiden
was sent back to the spot where she was first found, and she
disappeared beneath the waves.” The narrator quaintly adds, “This
testifies that a man-fish does no injury to human beings,” and he
moreover informs us that these creatures are frequently to be found
near Yü-shan and the Ladrone Island—so that any adventurous Hongkong
canoeist may still have a chance of making a novel acquaintance.
Another case recorded by the same writer speaks of a mermaid of more
conventional form than the lady already noticed. “The Cabinet
Councillor Cha Tao being despatched on a mission to Corea, and lying at
anchor in his ship at a bay upon the coast, saw a woman stretched upon
the beach, with her face upwards, her hair short and streaming loose,
and with webbed feet and hands. He recognised this being as a mermaid
(or man fish) and gave orders that she should be carried to the sea.
This being done, the creature clasped her hands with an expression of
loving gratitude and sank beneath the waters.”
The Straits of Hainan are regarded by the Chinese as the chief habitat
of monstrous fishes of strange shape, ruled over by the God of the
waters, a sort of Chinese Neptune. And it is quite possible that the
opening of the principal port of the island to foreign trade may (on
the ground that nearly all such legends have a faint substratum of
truth) reveal to the eyes of the naturalist new and undreamt-of
inhabitants of the deep. It is but a few years since the ridicule
excited by M. Victor Hugo’s “devil fish” has given way to a sober
recognition of the fact that the octopus of real life is a monster but
little differing from the fanciful sketch given of his congener. And he
would now-a-days be rash who ventured to assert that the Chinese have
less ground for asserting the existence of very real monsters to our
eyes than is possessed by the hardy fishermen of the coasts of Northern
Europe.
XI.—SUPERSTITIONS REGARDING THE POWERS OF NATURE.
The beliefs to be noticed under this head are such as those familiar
with Asiatic ways of thought would expect to find. The sun, moon, and
stars, thunder and lightning, wind, water, and fire are each supposed
to exist and exercise their powers under the directions of particular
deities or spirits. As with ourselves, the moon enjoys amongst the
Chinese a preëminence in regard to the numerous traditions related of
her inhabitants. There is an Old Man of the Moon, a Goddess, a Lunar
Frog, a Toad, a Hare &c., and each myth bears more or less resemblance
to legends handed down to us from our own forefathers. The sun, though
in a less degree, is the object of similar beliefs. Planetary or
stellar influences are devoutly believed in, stars being, as amongst
the ancient Westerns, the embodiments or homes of heroes or demons. So
too with cosmical phenomena. Being unable to realize that these occur
in accordance with natural laws laid down by an all-powerful Creator,
the Chinese are naturally thrown back upon the pagan idea of numerous
supernatural directors. That their legends regarding such matters are,
however puerile, so strikingly free from aught that is obscene or (when
mythology is in question) unnatural, is creditable to the purity of the
popular creeds.
Dr. D. J. Macgowan, whose numerous contributions to our better
knowledge of Chinese matters have placed his readers under considerable
obligations, furnished an interesting mass of matter in this connection
in an article read in December 1858 before the North China Branch of
the Royal Asiatic Society. In his introductory remarks he thus accounts
for the fulness of cosmical record for which Chinese literature is
remarkable:—“According to Chinese cosmogony, man is so intimately
identified with the powers of nature, being what they term ‘a miniature
heaven and earth,’ that, in order to be conversant with the science of
civil government, one must study celestial and terrestrial
phenomena,—as the deviations from the course of nature are all more or
less portentous of evil, excepting a few, which are regarded as
felicitous. Indeed, in high antiquity they professed to have a
revelation in a tabulated form, procured from the carapace of a
tortoise, by which those who observed the weather and seasons might
form correct opinions on the political aspect of the times. In the
Shu-King, under the section Hung-Fan or Great Plan, this doctrine is
summarily laid down thus:—
Seasonable rain, indicates Decorum.
Excessive rain, ,, Dissoluteness.
Opportune fine weather, ,, Good government.
Long-continued drought, ,, Arrogance.
Moderate heat, ,, Intelligence.
Excessive heat, ,, Indolence.
Moderate cold, ,, Deliberation.
Extreme cold, ,, Precipitation.
Seasonable wind, ,, Perfection.
Continued tempest, ,, Stupidity.
“From these views, which have great influence on the minds of the
Chinese, it happens that a fuller account of subterranean action of
meteorological wonders, and the like, are found in their records, than
among the annals of any other people, anterior to the birth of
meteorology as a science.”
No doubt the explanation here given accounts for the attention paid by
the more educated classes to natural phenomena. But, as is usually the
case, popular belief has grafted upon an intelligible, if absurd,
system numerous additions. The superstitious peasantry trouble
themselves but slightly about the science of civil government but
eagerly discuss portents which are believed to affect their little
world. And as my object is rather to deal with such superstitions as
they affect the vulgar, than as they influence the literati, I content
myself with this mere glance at the profounder system involved in
watching cosmical phenomena and pursue the humbler branch of the
subject comprehended under the term “folk-lore;” though it is probable
that I shall here transgress the boundaries of my subject, inasmuch as
such beliefs are too closely connected with native mythology to enable
a strict line to be drawn between the two.
The Chinese “Old Man in the Moon” is known as Yue-lao and is reputed to
hold in his hands the power of predestining the marriages of mortals—so
that marriages if not, according to the native idea, exactly made in
heaven, are made somewhere beyond the bounds of earth. He is supposed
to tie together the future husband and wife with an invisible silken
cord which never parts so long as life exists. Readers of Mr.
Baring-Gould’s “Curious Myths” will remember the various legends
attaching to the Man in the Moon, none of which however endow him with
any power over sublunary affairs. The parallel between an English and
Chinese superstition regarding the Queen or Goddess of the Moon is
closer. This still exists in parts of Lancashire and is the basis of
numerous legends in China. Regarding these latter I cannot do better
than quote the remarks made by Mr. W. F. Mayers, [163] though, as will
be observed, he does not notice the Lancashire superstition. He
says:—“No one can compare the Chinese legend with the popular European
belief in the ‘Man in the Moon,’ as sketched, for instance, in Mr.
Baring-Gould’s ‘Curious Myths of the Middle Ages’ (First Series, p.
179), without feeling convinced of the certainty that the Chinese
superstition and the English nursery tale are both derived from kindred
parentage, and are linked in this relationship by numerous subsidiary
ties. The idea, says Mr. Gould, of placing ‘animals in the two great
luminaries of heaven is very ancient and ... a relic of a primeval
superstition of the Aryan race.’ A tree, an old man, and a hare, are,
as Mr. Gould shews in various passages, the inhabitants assigned to the
moon in Indian fable; whilst the curious notion that the human recluse
condemned to an abode in the lunar regions owes his transportation
thither to an act of theft or of sacrilege is a well-known concomitant
of the story in all lands. In all the range of Chinese mythology there
is, perhaps, no stranger instance of identity with the traditions that
have taken root in Europe than in the case of the legends relating the
moon; and, luckily, it is not difficult to trace the origin of the
Chinese belief in this particular instance. The celebrated Lin Ngan,
author (in part at least) of the writings known as Hwai Nan Tsze, is
well known to have been the patron of travelled philosophers, under
whose guidance he studied and pursued the cabalistic practices which
eventually betrayed him to his death; and the famous astronomer Chang
Hêng was avowedly a disciple of Indian teachers. That the writings
derived from two such hands are found giving currency to an Indian
fable is, therefore, not surprising; and there seems to be ground for
suspicion that the name Chang Ngo, (or, as the dictionaries assert more
properly Heng-ngo) appearing in their treatises may be the corrupt
representation of some Hindoo sound, rather than connected, as the
writer quoted above suggests, with the doubtful title of an office
obscurely mentioned in times long anterior to the dates at which they
wrote. The statement given by Chang Hêng is to the effect that ‘How I
后羿, the fabled inventor of arrows in the days of Yao and Shun, obtained
the drug of immortality from Si Wang Mu (the fairy “Royal Mother” of
the West); and Chang-Ngo (his wife) having stolen it, fled to the moon,
and became the frog—Chan-chu—which is seen there.’ The later fabulists
have adhered to this story and amplified its details, as for instance,
in the Kwang-ki a pleasing story of a subsequent reunion between How I
and his wife is told; but in general the myth has been handed down
unaltered, and the lady Chang-ngo is still pointed out among the
shadows in the surface of the moon. In its etymological bearings, the
legend is well worthy of further investigation.” With this conclusion
all readers will agree. As regards the legend concerning the hare, it
is purely of Indian origin, having been introduced into China with
Buddhism. Sakyamuni, the founder of Buddhism, is related to have been a
hare in one of the earliest stages of his existence, living in
friendship with a fox and an ape. Indra having sought their hospitality
the fox and ape procured him food, but the hare could find nothing.
Sooner than be inhospitable the hare cast itself into a fire in order
to become food for his guest, in reward for which Indra transported him
to the moon. [164] The lunar hare, as Mr. Mayers notes in his “Manual,”
is said to squat at the foot of “the cassia tree of the moon” (月中桂)
pounding drugs for the Genii (Art. Kwei 桂 § 300). A vulgar superstition
asserts that the hare conceives by looking at the moon, bringing forth
her young from the mouth.
The influence exerted by the moon on tides is recognised by the
Chinese—a noteworthy fact in view of the strenuous denials of there
being any basis of scientific truth in a belief shared by every Western
sailor. The moon is, in China, the embodiment of the Yin or female
principle influencing darkness, the female sex, the earth, water, &c.
&c. A trace of a similar belief is to be found in the Isle of Skye. The
Skye correspondent of a home Journal writes:—“During the fortnight
commencing on the 24th of June, when the moon was crescent, no real
Skyeman would stack his peats for any consideration, believing that
unless stacked under a waning moon the peats will give neither light
nor heat when burned. ‘A power of smoke’ is all that can be expected
from peats stacked under a crescent moon. In Skye the crescent is
called ‘fas,’ and the wane ‘tarradh,’ and under these two terms the
moon not only exercises great influence over peats, but also over many
other things. In some parts of the High-lands, sheep, pigs and cows are
only killed in the ‘fas,’ as meat made in the ‘tarradh’ is supposed to
be good for nothing but ‘shrinking’ when in the pot.” Native Chinese
records aver that on the 18th day of the 6th moon, 1590, snow fell one
summer night from the midst of the moon. The flakes were like fine
willow flowers or shreds of silk.
If we except the somewhat bold speculations of certain modern
religionists who place the hereafter within the fiery orb forming the
centre of our system, European legend and belief have but little to say
about the sun. The Chinese however have not failed to assign it as the
dwelling-place of mysterious beings, one account making it the
residence of a spirit named Yuh I, while others allege that a
three-legged bird of supernatural attributes is its ruling demon. The
sun rules the masculine principle and is supposed to be the offspring
of a female named Hi Ho. [165] Other popular Buddhistic legends allege
the names of the solar genius to be—Su-li-ye 蘇利耶 or Su-mo 蘇摩. We must
turn to the fire-worshippers of Persia or Mexico, to the worshippers of
Baal or the sun-worshippers of Phœnicia for precise analogies in this
direction. Dr. Kitto concludes that the latter worshipped not the sun
itself but an astral spirit residing in it. The most singular fact in
connection with the Chinese beliefs is, after all, their compatibility
with an absence of any extended system of Sun-worship, though that
luminary is adored as Tai-yang-ti-chün—the “Sun ruler” who presides
over the soul of man.
The identification of the stars and planets with the dwelling places of
heroic or supernatural beings prevails extensively in China. These
superstitions are mostly Taoistic and strongly resemble those of the
Hindoos. The Divine Tortoise 神龜 Shên-kwai is said to be the embodiment
of the star “Yao Kwong” in Ursa Major. The Spirit of the legendary
prince Chih-yu 蚩尤 is supposed to inhabit the planet Mars. Yu-hwang-ti
is assigned to the pure Jade stone palace in the Tʻai-wei tract of
stars. Tʻien-hwang-ta-ti, who rules the poles, and regulates heaven,
earth and man, is said to reside in the pole star. Hsing-chu, the “Lord
of the stars” resides in a star near the pole known by his name; while
the spirit of the South pole has a similar celestial residence. As
already noted, Kwan-Ti, the God of War, is alleged to have made himself
visible, on occasions of dire political distress, within a brilliant
star. Numerous examples of this sort might be adduced, but the
foregoing may suffice. The constellations, by the way, are in Chinese
almanacks formed into arbitrary figures as in Western astronomy, while,
as is natural, the Chinaman actually associates the monster thus
designed with the stars forming its supposed outline. Persons born
under certain constellations are (in accordance with European
Astrology) liable to good or evil luck. Apropos of this I came across a
curious work from Madras [166] a short time since, in which the rules
for building a house in compliance with stellar influences closely
resemble similar beliefs in China.—“Having selected a site, the
frontage must be divided into nine equal parts, five being assigned to
the right and three to the left, the fourth division being reserved for
the door-way. The enumeration begins on the left and thus the fourth
section is in the mansion of Mercury. The occupant of such a house may
become as wealthy as Kubera. A person born under Gemini, Cancer, or
Leo, must build his house on a line stretching east and west, the
entrance being placed easterly. A person born under Virgo, Libra, or
Scorpio, must build on a line running north and south, the door-way
being southerly. One born under Sagittarius, Capricorn, or Aquarius
must build west and east, placing the entrance westerly. If born under
Pisces, Aries, or the Twins, he must build south and north, the door
being placed northerly. A family occupying a house built contrary to
these rules will be ruined.”
Some of the popular beliefs regarding appearances in the heavens have
been alluded to under Portents and Auguries, but I may here add a word
or two to the details already given. The appearance of ships, troops,
&c. in the sky is of course deemed supernatural, Chinese science being
as yet unacquainted with the causes of the mirage. Several
well-authenticated stories of such phenomena are on record, one at
Kung-shan having been visible for a whole day. That part of the sea on
Hangchau Bay which lies near Kiahing often, says Dr. Macgowan, exhibits
this illusion. It is more frequently seen from the opposite side. “Sea
Market” is the general term by which the mirage is designated, and it
is noted as occurring at different points of the coast from Canton to
Shantung. It can easily be believed that such an apparent miracle, in
view of two contending armies, would suffice to turn the scale of
victory on the side of those expecting reinforcements. Amongst other
phenomena recorded in China is the appearance of a hen without feet
sitting on the sun! Parhelia, or mock suns, have frequently been seen,
and the concurrence of their manifestation with important state events
has of course tended to justify a popular belief in their portentous
qualities. A well-known story published only a few years since, in one
of the foreign papers, relates how the Chang-ning rebels besieged one
of the cities in the Yangtsze valley, and how the magistrate having
first offered prayer in the temple of Tien-kung, led the troops against
them and completely defeated them. The rebel prisoners all stated that
when the battle commenced they saw a large flag in the heavens with the
characters Tien 田 on it, and in the rear of the flag a host of ghostly
soldiers flying through the air, smiting the rebels as they passed, and
scaring them out of their wits. Thus the city was saved. The success
was fully attributed to divine interposition, and the story is
gratefully recounted by the people to the present time. A memorial was
drawn up by the local gentry, and presented to the district magistrate
with the request that the Throne should be petitioned to confer a
higher title on Tien-kung. Such a request being in accordance with
Chinese custom, it was of course granted.
The absurd stories told of meteors are endless. In the native Records,
the most extraordinary phenomena are alleged to have been observed. A
shooting star from which fell fish (A.D. 519), a meteor which after
lying where it fell for some days suddenly moved of itself (A.D. 1561),
and a formless body as large as a house which bounded over the dykes
near Yuling into the sea, furrowing the ground as it went (A.D. 1782),
are duly recorded, with a host of ordinary meteorites, as having
alarmed the neighbourhood in which they appeared. “In the year 1348, a
star as large as a bowl, of a white and slightly azure colour, with a
tail about 50 feet long, lightened the sky, with a rumbling noise flew
from the North-east, and entered the midst of the moon, the moon then
looking as a reversed tile,—i.e. upright.” The Chinese are not of
course much worse (if so bad) in regard to such matters than the people
of the West, and equally curious records exist amongst ourselves. As
was observed in the introductory chapter the distinction between the
superstitions of the Middle Kingdom and those of Europe lies rather in
the more widely accorded credulity to alleged marvels amongst the
former than in any actual difference of belief.
Thunder and lightning are, of course, in China the manifestations of
supernatural anger. [167] The god of Thunder in China (Lui-tsz)
corresponds to the Indian Vajrapani, and is a well-known Buddhist
deity, worshipped like his numerous companions as a stellar god, and
occupying in popular belief a position not unlike, though less
important than, that of the Scandinavian Thor. [168] The connection
between lightning and fire in all known mythologies is equally obvious
in China. But we miss the Promethean legend so widely known in the
West. Here the God of Fire wields indeed the lightning, but only to
cause the conflagrations which satiate his vengeance. He is, in fact, a
very everyday deity, destitute of the enormous powers wielded by his
representatives elsewhere. The popular idea of his attributes is well
illustrated by the following legend, kindly placed at my disposal by
Mr. G. M. H. Playfair (of H. M. Consular service in China) as having
been related to him during his residence in Peking:—
“The temples of the God of Fire are numerous in Peking, as is natural
in a city built for the most part of very combustible materials. The
idols representing the god are, with one exception, decked with red
beards, typifying by their colour the element under his control. The
exceptional god has a white beard, and ‘thereby hangs a tale.’
“A hundred years ago the Chinese Imperial revenue was in much better
case than it is now. At that time they had not yet come into collision
with Western powers, and the word ‘indemnity’ had not, so far, found a
place in their vocabulary; internal rebellions were checked as soon as
they broke out, and, in one word, Kien Lung was in less embarrassed
circumstances than Kwang Hsu; he had more money to spend, and did lay
out a good deal in the way of palaces. His favourite building, and one
on which no expense had been spared, was the ‘Hall of Contemplation.’
This Hall was of very large dimensions; the rafters and the pillars
which supported the roof were of a size such as no trees in China
furnish now-a-days. They were not improbably originally sent as an
offering by the tributary monarch of some tropical country, such as
Burmah or Siam. Two men could barely join hands round the pillars; they
were cased in lustrous jet black lacquer, which, while adding to the
beauty of their appearance, was also supposed to make them less liable
to combustion. Indeed, every care was taken that no fire should
approach the building; no lighted lamp was allowed in the precincts,
and to have smoked a pipe inside those walls would have been punished
with death. The floor of the Hall was of different-coloured marbles, in
a mosaic of flowers and mystic Chinese characters, always kept polished
like a mirror. The sides of the room were lined with rare books and
precious manuscripts. It was in short the finest palace in the Imperial
city, and it was the pride of Kien Lung.
“Alas for the vanity of human wishes! In spite of every precaution, one
night a fire broke out and the Hall of Contemplation was in danger. The
Chinese of a century ago were not without fire-engines; and though
miserably inefficient as compared with those of our London fire
brigades, they were better than nothing, and a hundred of them were
soon working round the burning building. The Emperor himself came out
to superintend their efforts and encourage them to renewed exertions.
But the wall was doomed; a more than earthly power was directing the
flames, and mortal efforts were of no avail. For on one of the burning
rafters Kien Lung saw the figure of a little old man, with a long white
beard, standing in a triumphant attitude. ‘It is the God of Fire,’ said
the Emperor, ‘we can do nothing:’ so the building was allowed to blaze
in peace. Next day Kien Lung appointed a Commission to go the round of
the Peking temples in order to discover in which of them there was a
Fire god with a white beard, that he might worship him and appease the
offended deity. The search was fruitless; all the Fire-gods had red
beards. But the Commission had done its work badly; being highly
respectable mandarins of genteel families, they had confined their
search to such temples as were in good repair and of creditable
exterior. Outside the North gate of the Imperial City was one old,
dilapidated, disreputable shrine which they had overlooked. It had been
crumbling away for years, and even the dread figure of the God of Fire,
which sat above the altar, had not escaped desecration. ‘Time had
thinned his flowing locks,’ and the beard had fallen away altogether.
One day some water-carriers who frequented the locality thought, either
in charity or by way of a joke, that the face would look the better for
a new beard. So they unravelled some cord, and with the frayed-out hemp
adorned the beardless chin. An official passing the temple one day,
peeped in out of curiosity, and saw the hempen beard. ‘Just the thing
the Emperor was enquiring about,’ said he to himself, and he took the
news to the palace without delay. Next day there was a state visit to
the dilapidated temple, and Kien Lung made obeisance and vowed a vow.
“‘O Fire God,’ said he, ‘thou hast been wroth with me in that I have
built me palaces and left thy shrine unhonoured and in ruins. Here do I
vow to build thee a temple surpassed by none other of the Fire-gods in
Peking; but I shall expect thee in future not to meddle with my
palaces.’
“The Emperor was as good as his word. The new temple is on the site of
the old one and the Fire god has a flowing beard of fine white hair.”
Some odd superstitions connected with the spread of fire come under my
notice at this moment. The Chinese are cautious of provoking the “God
of Fire” or “Fire Principle” either by ill-timed allusions to his
powers or by other acts, and the Tientsin correspondent of a Shanghai
journal refers to this fact in noting that, in view of an existing
drought, and the closing of the South gate of the former City as a
stimulus to rain, the Fire Principle might revenge itself by an
outbreak. On the 19th of May last the correspondent writes:—“Almost as
soon as this ill-timed suggestion had an opportunity to get itself
considered, the Fire Principle proceeded to act upon it; the
consequence is that a large quantity of combustible material, and
several rather incombustible mud houses, now ‘slumber in the valley.’
The houses at the foreign settlement a mile and-a-half distant were
illuminated by the lurid light, before which even the full moon paled
its ineffectual fires. The inevitable ‘fire pigeon,’ whose
indeterminate circles and final flight are watched with close and most
superstitious awe, did not fail to appear, and having indicated by his
course that the fire would spread across the wall into the city, caused
the most intense excitement there. Fortunately the wind was
comparatively light, and the damage done, considering the terror
inspired, was trifling. The next day in a violent gale another
conflagration broke out at the south-west corner of the city, destroyed
the grass intended for horses and donkeys, but no houses.” The “fire
pigeon” here alluded to is nothing supernatural. Most cities in North
China are frequented by large flocks of pigeons, and the light of a
conflagration generally attracts a number who wheel in circles round
the burning house. The bird nearest the flames is looked upon as
affording an augury of their spread—not always, as is above evidenced,
of the most reliable description.
Mountains in China as in Europe have their demons or presiding
divinities. The God of Tʻai-shan in Shantung Tung-yoh-ta-ti regulates
the punishments inflicted on sinners in both this world and the next.
Four other divinities rule over the principal chains in other portions
of the Empire.
The formation of islands by natural causes in the vast streams which
water the empire is of course the basis of numerous legends. A
gentleman who explored the West River near Canton, some ten years
since, gave the following instance, showing how easily a popular belief
springs into being. “Pau Man-ching, who was Departmental Magistrate
(some eight hundred and twenty-five years ago) of what was then known
as Tün Chau now Shiu Hing Fù, is said to have been a man of remarkable
administrative powers and possessing the most sterling integrity. He
filled his term of office in such an acceptable manner, that on its
expiration he was immediately transferred to a position of honor and
trust in the capital. Illustrative of his great virtue it is recorded,
that when he arrived at Shiu Hing, the Department City, he found the
officers were in the habit of practising gross abuses of power, and set
himself immediately to the work of reformation. Particularly were they
accustomed to require the people to furnish ten-fold more than the
lawful tribute from the ink-stone quarries, which are regarded as the
best in the Empire. The surplus thus acquired was secretly distributed
among the high officers at the Court, in order to secure special favor.
He at once put a stop to the practice, and would allow no more tribute
to be levied than was actually sent up to the Emperor. In this one
respect he was so strict that he did not carry away a single stone for
himself when he left. Now tradition amplifies the idea and says, that
of the many testimonials of gratitude and respect offered him by the
people on his departure, he only accepted an inkstone, lest there
should seem to be even the shadow of bribery or corruption chargeable
against him. When he arrived at the above-mentioned point in the river
on his voyage down, a violent storm arose, which threatened to
overwhelm the boat. The inkstone became a burden to his conscience, and
Jonah-like was hove into the stream; whereupon the storm immediately
ceased and an island rose up, known to this day as ‘Inkstone island.’
Another form of the legend is, that in the midst of the storm he fell
into a passion, upbraided the Gods of the country for thus rewarding a
man who had endeavoured to do his duty, and then cast away the stone,
the act being followed by the above result. If either of these were
true, it surely might be said that this was one of the most productive
inkstones in China.” It should be added that the better-read literati
of the neighbourhood simply refer the name to the fact of the inkstone
being cast overboard opposite the island, but the more miraculous
version is firmly accepted by the unlettered peasants. I need scarcely
refer to well-known European legends to find parallels to the above.
The belief that violent winds or typhoons are caused by the passage
through the air of a “Bob-tailed Dragon” has been before adverted to,
and the superstitions connected with water, whether in the shape of
rain, sea, or river, are equally quaint. The rain god Yü-Shih 雨師 or
“Master of rain” is a divinity identified by the ancient cosmogonists
with a son of Kung Kung bearing the name 玄冥 (Hsuan-ming). He is
identified with the constellation 畢 (Hyades) and is held as
personifying the aqueous influences of the atmosphere. [169] One of his
effigies occupies an honoured position in a temple some ten miles from
Peking, and about a hundred and fifty years ago fell under the
displeasure of the then Emperor for his persistent neglect to send down
the much needed showers. A chain was put round his neck and he was
ignominiously dragged to the Mongolian frontier, when a lucky deluge
delivered his godship from his unpleasant position. He was taken back
in great state, and the Emperor himself bestowed on him a yellow dress,
which still adorned the idol at the time of my visit.
As a specimen of the form in which the popular superstitions in this
connection are evidenced the following from a correspondent at Tientsin
deserves record. Writing to a Northern journal in May last he says,
“The season continues excessively dry, in spite of the liberal
petitions to every god by all people whatsoever. The most recent
sensation story relates to a Buddhist priest who has conceived the idea
of doing a little temple building at the expense of the public
credulity, and has accordingly, after interviewing the high officials
for permission, announced that he will pray for rain for a period of
six or seven days, on an altar for that purpose erected near the Sung
Wang Miao, and if within the specified time rain does not fall, he will
be burnt alive.” A general curiosity was manifested to know whether
this foolish bargain would be kept. Happily for the enthusiast, or
impostor, a slight shower which fell an hour or two before the date
expired was considered sufficient to save his reputation and his life,
Chinese officials not liking to be trifled with in such matters. For
the rest, praying for rain is an every-day matter in China where
drought is one of the most serious of disasters. By native custom the
Emperor is deemed responsible if the drought be at all severe, and
numerous are the self-condemnatory Imperial edicts on this subject
published in the pages of the venerable Peking Gazette. In extreme
cases the Emperor, clothed in humble vestments, sacrifices to Heaven
and entreats its benevolence. No touch of superstition this,
however,—rather a glimpse of Chinese humanity at its best, conscious of
its subjection to a higher will and openly confessing its shortcomings!
Tides share with rain a superstitious belief in their regulation by
supernatural beings. The most remarkable phenomenon in connection with
this subject to be witnessed in China is the Eagre or bore of the
Tsien-tang river which debouches into the sea at the extreme eastern
portion of the coast, the city of Hang-chow being situated at its
mouth. The Eagre at times causes a rise of tide to the extent of some
forty feet opposite the city, and a writer already quoted, in a paper
on the subject read before the China Branch of the Royal Asiatic
Society so long ago as 1853, gives some interesting details of the
superstitions connected with it. The Chinese, he says, regard the Eagre
as one of the wonders of their world, and it gave its name to the
province. “As might be expected, therefore, it is blended with their
mythology. It is not a little remarkable, however, that it should be
popularly ascribed to the spiritual energy of a 神 shên (or god,) who
lived so recently as five hundred and forty years before our era, or
about twenty years before the birth of Confucius. At that period the
Tsien-tang was the boundary of two belligerent kingdoms, Wú and Yueh.
Fu Chai, king of the former, incensed against his minister Wú Tsz’ Si,
for opposing the terms of a treaty, submitted by Chung, ambassador of
Ku Tsien, King of Yueh, sent him a sword, with which, understanding his
master’s will, he committed suicide, by cutting his throat, a method
still pursued by sovereigns in China towards officers of distinction
who have incurred their displeasure. This incident in ancient history
is recorded in the spring and autumn Annals of Confucius; but in a
work, entitled “Spring and Autumn Annals of the States of Wú and Yueh,”
a historical novel, written several hundred years after, a prevailing
myth is superadded to the authentic narrative, which the author himself
seems to credit, and which to the present day is received as verity.”
“Wú Tsz’ Si’s corpse, which was thrown into the Tsien-tang, after being
carried to and fro by the tide for some time, tunneled a passage
through the hills on the Yueh side, as far as the tomb of the quondam
ambassador Chung, whose cadaver he took with him to the estuary. Since
that period, it is stated Wú Tsz’ Si has been the god of the Eagre, his
periodical indignation being exhibited by its violence; hence the
sacrifices and prayers officially presented at appointed seasons to
propitiate his anger. Monarchs of almost every dynasty have honoured
him with titles, so that they are recorded.” [170]
The superstitions connected with that class of phenomena referable to
Volcanic agency are numerous. The many earthquakes which have visited
the empire are frequently alleged to have been accompanied by the
appearance of white hairs on the ground. As a similar appearance has
been observed in Mexico the allegation is doubtless true, and is
probably explainable by natural causes. Some scientists are of opinion
that these hairs are caused by the mixture of some salt of the soil
with a certain gas. But whatever the true reason, the Chinese commonly
view them as supernatural productions emblematic of serious disaster.
Another very frequently recorded appearance at such times is that of
blood falling from the sky, issuing from the ground, or otherwise
appearing in unusual places. The following legend regarding lake Man in
the prefecture of Sungkiang is related in the native topography of the
district. This lake was in former times the site of a flourishing city
called Chiang-shui. A report, said to have originated with the children
of the place, ran to the effect that whenever blood should be seen upon
the gates of the city it would disappear and the site become a lake.
Now there lived at Chiang-shui an old woman who being deeply impressed
by the possible danger used to come daily to see if blood was on the
gates; and some of the soldiers on duty thought in an idle moment that
it would be fine fun to hoax her; so they killed a dog and smeared the
gates with his blood. The old woman immediately left the place amidst
the jeers of the jokers. But their laughter was short-lived. A few days
only had elapsed when a flood took place; a fearful noise was heard,
and, with scarcely a moment’s warning, the entire city sank into the
earth, the resistless waters filling up the hole and forming the lake
now visible. The fact appears to be historical, and similar instances
of sudden sinking are alleged to have occurred in the same
neighbourhood.
Records of sudden fissures in the earth (due it may be safely alleged
to volcanic action) are plentiful enough in Chinese annals, but are, of
course, always accompanied by other portentous occurrences. A favourite
legend relates to the emission of a shên or chiao 蛟 which eventually
becomes a dragon. The fissures are due to its efforts to escape from
the earth’s interior. “The Shên is popularly described as an embryotic
dragon, or a dragon in the first stage of existence. It is formed by
the perspiration of that animal falling from the sky upon terrestrial
beings. Animals thus affected become Shên, sink into the ground and
remain there, some say thirty, some an hundred years, emerging in heavy
rains as a Kiau.” [171] Other legends record the emission of fragrant
vapours from the rents thus made, the issue of blood from springs in
place of water, &c. These latter occurrences may have been due to a
gush of water through oxide of iron beds, but Chinese records are too
unscientific to allow aught save conjecture in this respect. Trees also
are recorded as giving forth blood, an appearance due in all
probability to the presence of minute insects in exudations from the
bark.
Waterspouts are usually spoken of in native annals as dragons, and when
more than one is seen they are described as fighting in the air. Nine
dragons fighting at sea are recorded as having been seen at Shanghai in
the year 1519. The following list of such occurrences is from the
authority already quoted—
A.D. 1605.—A couple of dragons fought at Whampoa and tore up a
large tree, and demolished several tens of houses.
A.D. 1608, 4th moon.—A gyrating dragon was seen over the decorated
summit of a pagoda; all around were clouds and fog; the tail only
of the dragon was visible; in the space of eating a meal, it went
away, leaving the marks of its claws on the pagoda.
A.D. 1609, 6th moon.—A white dragon was seen at Whangpu; on its
head stood a god.
A.D. 1452, 6th moon.—A dragon at the Tsan stream taking up water,
lifted a boat, and transported it to the middle of a field; rain
fell to the depth of several feet, soaking plants to death.
A.D. 1667, 6th moon, 14th day.—Dragons were seen fighting in the
air; there was a violent wind and excessive rain; the canal rose
four or five feet; many houses were destroyed, a tree above ten
armlengths in circumference was torn up &c.
A.D. 1773, 7th moon, 20th day.—A group of dragons burnt paddy in
the field, drew houses into the air and travellers also;
hail-stones of two or three catties weight fell, killing houses and
animals.
A.D. 1739, 9th moon, 3rd day.—Dragons fought at Man lake, and went
off S. E. to the sea, destroying the paddy as they went.
A.D. 1787, 7th moon.—Dragons fought; a great wind overturning
houses, and carrying off, no one knows where, half a stone bridge.
It is satisfactory to be able to identify the very mythical dragon (as
usually deemed) with a tangible force. The popular superstitions
regarding it acquire a certain amount of respectability in view of this
fact—first pointed out I believe by the ingenious writer above quoted.
Popular beliefs concerning human beings being metamorphosed into stone
have been already touched on under the heads of Witchcraft and
Demonology, the “stone rams” of Canton being cited as an example. But
similar legends, though of less supernatural complexion, exist in all
parts of the empire. Shiu Hing Gap 肇慶峽 on the West River is more
properly called Ling Yung Hap 羚羊峽 i.e. “Chamois Gap,” since tradition
asserts that some such animal was thereabouts transformed into stone.
Not far from the same spot, says a traveller who visited the place some
ten years since, “The Woman looking for her husband” 望夫石 is pointed
out. “Two thirds way up the mountain, in a slight depression between a
secondary peak and the main peak above and beyond, and at the head of a
ravine which, from a point on the river a little further up, inclines
down the stream as it ascends the face of the hill, there is a rock
apparently only a few feet in height, which presents a striking
resemblance to a woman seated on the ground and looking towards the
west. In ascending the pass the view is not fully obtained until you
have passed slightly beyond the position, when a good binocular reveals
a fine side view of the head and body of a woman, the coiffure being
quite distinct and the general appearance tolerably true to life. The
legend connected with the rock-freak is that in ancient days the wife
of a military officer who had gone to Kwang-Si and fallen in battle,
came here day by day to look for his return. Being ignorant of his
fate, her vigils were protracted until they were finally rewarded by
the transformation of her body into this rock, a conversion into her
own monument.”
Such then are a few of the cosmical facts or phenomena in which Chinese
superstition finds room for indulgence. I may fitly conclude this
chapter by noting an incident in this connection which reflects credit
on the Emperor to whom it alludes. A secretion (probably of animal
origin) is occasionally found to fall like the manna of old from the
sky, and such an event being rare a report of it is always made to the
authorities. In the year 1788 a notice that sweet dew had fallen for
three days in the Sung Kiang prefecture was sent to the Emperor Yung
Ching. The memorial stating the fact “attributed it to the virtues of
the monarch, which called down this signal manifestation of heaven’s
favor. His Majesty gracefully declined taking the honor to himself, as
it did not fall in the palace; but ascribed it to the goodness of the
officers and people of the palace, and enjoined on them the duty of
acknowledging and proving themselves worthy of the heavenly token.”
Pagan gratitude to Heaven, though it sometimes takes queer forms, is
not an unknown sentiment in China.
XII.—LEGENDS OF LOCALITY, HOUSEHOLD TALES, &c.
All who possess the slightest acquaintance with the legendary lore of
the Celestial empire will readily credit the assertion that any attempt
to even cursorily notice a tenth of the vast number of legends current
throughout its population would be a task far beyond both the scope of
these pages, and the average reader’s patience. In touching therefore
on the subjects embraced under the above heading, an attempt must be
made to deal chiefly with those which are typical of numerous variants,
while at the same time offering resemblances to legends current in the
West. Few countries present a larger field for curious enquiry in this
respect; and any shortcomings in demonstrating the fact must rather be
referred to the fault of the writer than to paucity of matter.
In an interesting article on the “Legends of the Yang-Tsze River” the
North China Herald recently drew attention to the wealth of material at
the disposition of any one willing to gather it, in the following
well-chosen words: “The Romish Church has been said by a great Catholic
authority to be ‘hung with miracles,’ and in the same way the whole of
China is hung with legends. The most industrious and materialistic race
in the world attest the resolution with which the imaginative faculty
suggests itself, by the wild variety of the legends that linger about
its austere mountains and winding dells. The rocks, tapestried with
creepers, the fountain sparkling in the winding vales, and the rude
rocks or tawny islets that abound in the large streams, all have their
presiding fairy or their romantic tale of magic and glamour. The names
of the various elevations that the voyager meets with, suggest all
manner of curious enquiries. We hear of ‘Yellow Ox Hill,’ ‘Golden Yoke
Cliff,’ ‘Flying Phœnix Mountain,’ ‘Ascending Dragon Peak,’ and ‘Filial
Maiden Precipice.’” The writer indeed admits that though the legends
connected with the Yang-Tsze, its tributaries and lakes, are full of
interest, the wildest and most romantic stories and the richest
historical associations do not gather about the Yang-tsze-kiang but
about the Yellow River. But his remarks will, it may be hoped,
stimulate research in both directions, and I can only regret that no
chance of exploring this rich mine of Chinese legend presents itself to
me before giving these pages to the press. Enough however is at
disposal to render selection difficult.
Most nations have, or have had, a reputed gate of Purgatory or Hell
situated somewhere within their borders, more especially if the country
they inhabit include vast tracts of mountainous country, amongst whose
gloomy recesses popular superstition finds it easy to locate an
entrance to the nether world, unchecked by the ridicule of educated
visitors. Thus the Hörselloch cavern in the Hörselberg, between
Eisenach and Gotha, was supposed by the peasantry of Thuringia to be
the entrance to Purgatory, and moans and shrieks were believed in
former times to be nightly heard issuing from its ghostly portals.
[172] I need scarcely refer classical scholars to the legend of the
cave of Acherusia, nor will most students of ethnology be unaware how
widespread is the belief that a door to the infernal regions is
accessible to mortal gaze. But the fact of a similar belief existing in
China may be new to many. The location of this entrance to the Chinese
purgatory is by native writers placed not far from Têng Chow, of which
Chefoo is the Treaty Port, celebrated throughout the length and breadth
of the Empire from its proximity to the birth-place of Confucius. The
demons of Têng Chow are classed, according to a Chinese proverb, as one
of the wonders of the world—as well they might be, did they exist.
Popular tradition avers that at stated periods the ghosts of the
departed, who are sent to Têng Chow to await judgment, are allowed to
again revisit their earthly haunts; which, as the native chronicles
naively observe, fully accounts for the mysterious doings common in the
neighbourhood.
Nobody who has read the Arabian Nights (and who has not?) will have
forgotten the story of the “City of Silence,” in which the hero goes in
search of “the bottles of brass stopped with molten lead and sealed
with the ring of Suleymán the son of Dáood.” The story goes on to tell
how these bottles were frequently drawn up by fishermen in their nets
and how, upon their being opened, genii were liberated who had been
imprisoned by that all-powerful potentate as a punishment for their
disobedience. The hero, after undergoing various extraordinary
adventures, finally reaches the City of Silence and at last obtains the
coveted bottles for his Sultan. Now the powers herein conferred upon
the mighty Suleymán are oddly recalled by a legend (communicated to
Notes and Queries on China and Japan by Mr. T. Sampson in 1867) which
may quite rank with its Arabian prototype, with the difference that it
has a local interest and, in native eyes, accounts for certain
historical events. It runs as follows:—
“Many generations ago, the Prefect of Shiu-hing dreamed a dream. In his
dream he saw myriads of devils who in answer to his enquiries, told him
that they were going to overthrow the ruling dynasty; the Prefect
expressed disbelief in their power to do so, but the devils still
asserted their power and their purpose. The Prefect desired some
distinguishing mark by which to recognize the devils in any altered
form which they might assume in carrying out their threats, and the
latter consented to allow him to mark each of them with a red spot on
the forehead as a token of recognition; this the Prefect did.
“When he awoke he was much troubled, not knowing whether his dealings
with the devils were a reality or an idle vision. He went out to
consult wise men on the subject; but what was his surprise, on
returning to his yamên, to find it strewed with small round stones, on
every side of which was a red spot. ‘These,’ thought he, ‘are surely
the devils I marked last night, and what a good opportunity is this for
me to get them in my power.’ Accordingly he caused all the stones to be
collected, to be firmly secured in earthenware jars, and then to be
locked up in a strong room in his yamên. But before they were finally
secured they entered into a parley with the Prefect, the result of
which was an agreement on their part to submit to incarceration till a
certain tree in the yamên should come in blossom, when they were to be
released. The wily Prefect knew, but the devils did not know, that this
particular tree never did blossom in the latitude of Shiu-hing, and
thus he congratulated himself on having saved the Government from these
powerful enemies. It was understood however that to render their
imprisonment valid the door was to be sealed with the Prefect’s seal,
which was to be renewed by each successive holder of that office.
“Prefect after Prefect for some generations occupied the yamên, and
each of them on assuming office faithfully resealed the door of the
devils’ prison, until at length the story began to be forgotten or
disbelieved; and one unlucky Prefect surnamed Luk, forgetting or
carelessly neglecting to perform this duty, the door was thoughtlessly
left open and a jar of devils broken. At the moment this occurred it
happened that an official retinue were in the yamên, and the followers
had hung their red-tasselled caps on the tree, the blossoming of which
was to have been a signal for the release of the prisoners.
“Perceiving that their release was the result of accident, mistaking
the red tassels for flowers, and assuming that the tree had thus
flowered every year during their long confinement, the devils were much
incensed at this breach of faith in the matter of their promised
release, and in retaliation they caused the city to be submerged below
the waters of the river. And it was not until they (the story saith not
how) were captured, and the door resealed that the city again came
above water. Taught by woeful experience, each succeeding Prefect was
from that time careful to reseal the door on assuming office, and thus
the devils were long restrained from doing mischief.
“Time passed on, and with the same result as before. Faith in the
necessity of sealing the door was shaken, and in 1854 a Prefect
surnamed M’a assumed office, utterly despising the story of the devils.
Not only did he omit to seal the door, but he caused the red-spotted
stones to be taken from the strong room, and to be thrown away. What
was the result? In that very year the red-turbaned rebels—the devils
with red marks on their foreheads, now appearing in human form—captured
the city!
“Here ends the legend. Whether the devils have been recaptured, or
whether they are still abroad devising schemes for the release of a few
remaining jars of their comrades which escaped Ma’s destruction, or
whether they ceased to exist when their human personifications were
killed, the legend saith not; but so far as it goes, it is vouched for,
at this day, by the inhabitants of Shiu-hing, who declare that the
sealed strong room may be seen any day, and that no man surnamed Luk or
Mʻa would now be allowed to be Prefect of Shiu-hing.”
It would be interesting to know if the classical legend of the golden
cup given by the Sun-God Helios to Hercules, who used it as a ship to
convey him across stretches of ocean, owed its origin to the same
source as a popular legend in South China. We want however in the
latter case the connecting link between the original myth and the
vulgar version so ingeniously shewn by Mr Kelly in his well-known work.
[173] A tea-cup here takes the place of the more valuable utensil, but
is credited with similar powers of transport. Pei-tu (杯渡) “The Cup
Traveller” was a renowned Buddhist priest who lived some five or six
hundred years ago, and was accustomed to wander at will over the Canton
province, his magic cup serving him as a ferry-boat whenever he had to
cross water. On one occasion he carried off a golden idol belonging to
the house where he had passed the night. Pursuit was given, but the
priest, though walking on foot, easily outstripped the fastest horse of
his pursuers, who, at length seeing him carried over a river in his
tea-cup, abandoned the chase. The mountain not far from Hongkong, known
to foreigners as “Castlepeak,” was named after this priest, Pei-tu (or
in the local dialect Poi-tou). Can this legend be a dim reproduction of
the Western myth?
The legend connected with the valley of the White Deer near the Poyang
Lake—so named from the story that the Philosopher Choo Tzu employed
such an animal to bring him provisions from the neighbouring
market—recalls home tales in which deer are gifted with human
attributes. Sclavonian folk-lore has many references of this nature.
The Vilas or mountain nymphs of Servia are sometimes represented in
their popular songs as comforting the sorrows of enamoured deer. They
are usually, says Mr. Keightley, represented as “riding a seven-year
old hart with a bridle made of snakes.” Deer horns are, as everybody
knows, supposed in China to possess all sorts of wonderful properties.
The Icelandic Troll who plays so conspicuous a part in the story of the
“Shepherd of Silfrunarstadir” [174] possesses attributes closely
resembling those with which the Chinese endow the female spirits of the
gorges to be found in the vast mountain chains of the Empire. In both
cases they are beneficent spirits. The great Yu is said to have been
indebted to the being who watches over the Wushan gorge in Szechuan for
the power to carry out his labours. The “Wild women” of Germany, who
are supposed to frequent the Wunderberg, possess analogous qualities
but have no dominion over the powers of nature. The Breton Korrigan,
again, bear certain resemblances to supernatural beings believed in by
the Chinese. They are described (Keightley, page 432) as short and
humpy, with shaggy hair, dark wrinkled faces, little deep-set eyes but
bright as carbuncles; and woe to the belated traveller who is forced to
join in their fairy revels! Their breath is reported to be deadly. The
Chinese legend of the Lin-lu mountain recounts the existence of a
mysterious arbour inhabited by a demon and numerous companions who are
in reality dogs transformed for the nonce into the semblance of earthly
beings. As with the Korrigan, whoever passed the night with them was
sure to die. A Sage, possessed of a magic mirror, once put up with
these elves, but being warned by the mirror of the quality of his
companions, stabbed the nearest, when the rest ran away. Similar
stories are told of numerous localities, but this may be taken as a
type of the whole.
The fantastic exaggerations of geographical facts and fancies which
form so prominent a feature in oriental tales (such, for instance, as
the Arabian Nights) are freely reproduced in China, though it is only
fair to say that they seem in great part to be derived from Hindoo
sources. Thus all that is recounted of the celebrated lake supposed to
be the source of the Hwang-ho, with its bottom covered with diamonds
&c., &c., is simply adapted from the Sanscrit. The Kwên Lun mountain,
in which this lake is supposed to be situated, is, in Taoist legend,
alleged to have growing upon it trees of jade-stone and pearls, the
tree and fountain of life, &c., the sources of these wonderful stories
being similar. Native writers have, indeed, expanded the original
accounts, but the legends are substantially the same. Chêng Cheng Shan,
near the capital of Sze-chuan, is supposed to be a mountain in whose
caves the gods and genii assemble. Allusion has already been made to
the “Isles of the Genii” supposed to exist in the Eastern sea opposite
the Chinese coast. It may suffice to say that there are few such
extravagances recorded in Western literature which do not find
counterparts in Chinese belief.
A Western superstition, which I cannot now trace, but of which I have
seen mention, that a human being or human blood cast into a smelting
furnace ensures a satisfactory casting, forms the basis of a legend
connected with the Bell Tower of Peking, narrated by Mr. Stent in his
recent paper on Chinese legends. Briefly summarized it tells how the
Emperor Yung-lo of the Ming dynasty, having built the tower, ordered a
mandarin named Kuan-yu to cast a bell of the proper size. Two attempts
were made to carry out the order, at intervals of some months, but
without success. In both cases the casting was “honey-combed,” and the
enraged Emperor declared that if the third attempt failed he would
behead the unfortunate official. Now Kuan-yu had a beautiful daughter
aged sixteen, named Ko-ai, to whom he was tenderly attached and who did
all she could to comfort her distressed parent. One day it struck her
that she would go to a celebrated astrologer to ascertain the cause of
her father’s failures and what means could be taken to prevent their
recurrence. From him she learned that the next casting would also be a
failure if the blood of a maiden were not mixed with the ingredients.
She returned home full of horror at the information, but resolved to
immolate herself sooner than that her father should fail. She obtained
leave from her father to be present at the casting; and the catastrophe
is thus described. “A dead silence prevailed through the assemblage as
the melted metal once more rushed to its destination. This was broken
by a shriek and a cry of ‘For my father,’ and Ko-ai was seen to throw
herself head-long into the seething hissing metal. One of her followers
attempted to seize her while in the art of plunging into the boiling
fluid but succeeded only in grasping one of her shoes, which came off
in his hand. The father was frantic and had to be kept by force from
following her example; he was taken home a raving maniac. The
prediction of the astrologer was verified, for on uncovering the bell
after it had cooled it was found to be perfect, but not a vestige of
Ko-ai was to be seen; the blood of a maiden had indeed been fused with
the ingredients.” But the sequel recounts how the sonorous boom of the
bell when struck was followed by a low wailing sound like the cry of a
human female voice in great agony distinctly saying the word hsieh
(shoe)—a sound still heard after every stroke; and to this day people
when they hear it say “There’s poor Ko-ai calling for her shoe.”
The idea of self-sacrifice to ensure some public good has ever been
popular in China, and ages before the heroic Roman Youth leaped his
horse into the earthquake chasm for the sake of his countrymen, Chinese
patriots are recorded as having exhibited a similarly noble spirit. An
instance of this was afforded by a tea-merchant at Hang-chow who some
hundred and fifty years ago cast himself into the river Tsien-tang as a
sacrifice to the spirit of the dykes which were constantly being washed
away. Numerous instances of similar devotion appear in Chinese annals,
each being of course the basis of a legend more or less accurate in its
adherence to facts.
The cave of Kwang-siu-fʻoo in Kiang-si is the reputed scene of a legend
or household tale recalling a portion of the well-known “Ali Baba and
the Forty Thieves.” There was in the neighbourhood a poor herdsman
named Chang, his sole surviving relative being a grandmother with whom
he lived. One day, happening to pass near the cave in question, he
overheard some one using the following words:—
石門開，鬼谷先生來
Shih mun kai, Kwai ku hsien shêng lai. “Stone door open; Mr. Kwei Ku is
coming.” Upon this the door of the cave opened, and the speaker
entered. Having remained there for some time he came out and saying
“Stone door close; Mr. Kwei Ku is going,” the door again closed and the
visitor departed. Chang’s curiosity was naturally excited, and having
several times heard the formula repeated he waited one day until the
genie (for such he was) had taken his departure and essayed to obtain
an entrance. To his great delight the door yielded, and having gone
inside he found himself in a romantic grotto of immense extent. Nothing
however in the shape of treasure met his eye, so having fully explored
the place he returned to the door, which shut at his bidding, and went
home. Upon telling his grandmother of his adventure she expressed a
strong wish to see the wonderful cavern; and thither they accordingly
went together next day. Wandering about in admiration of the scenery
they became separated, and Chang at length, supposing that his
grandmother had left, passed out of the door and ordered it to shut.
Reaching home he found, to his dismay, that she had not yet arrived.
She must of course have been locked up in the cave, so back he sped and
before long was using the magic sentence to obtain access. But alas!
the talisman had failed, and poor Chang fell into an agony of
apprehension as he reflected that his grandmother would either be
starved to death or killed by the enraged genie. While in this
perplexity the genie appeared and asked him what was amiss. Chang
frankly told him the truth, and implored him to open the door. This the
genie refused to do, but told him that his grandmother’s disappearance
was a matter of fate. The cave demanded a victim. Had it been a male,
every succeeding generation of his family would have seen one of its
members arrive at princely rank. In the case of a woman her descendants
would in a similar way possess power over demons. Somewhat comforted to
know that he was not exactly responsible for his grandmother’s death,
Chang returned home and in process of time married. His first son duly
became Chang tien shih 張天師 (Chang, the Master of Heaven), who about
A.D. 25 was the first holder of an office which has existed
uninterruptedly to the present day. So says one popular legend. An
equally credible (or incredible) version of the birth of this prodigy,
however, says nothing of the magic cave, but refers the event to a
visit made to his mother by the spirit of the Polar star, who gave her
a fragrant herb called Hêng wei which caused her to become enceinte.
[175] Be the authentic version what it may, however, the fact remains
that Ali Baba’s cave has its mythic representative in China.
The apparently magic power possessed by the loadstone has in China, as
elsewhere, been pressed into legendary service. Stories of magic tombs
also were common amongst European peoples in mediæval ages, and here we
have a native legend which in many respects recalls their details. In
the mountain of Ting Chün is the tomb of Chu-ko-liang 諸葛亮 or Kung-ming
孔明 celebrated in ancient annals as the wise councillor of Liu-pei and
reputed during his life-time to have employed, by means of magic arts,
wooden oxen and mechanical horses to aid in the military operations of
his time. As was but natural, the burial-place of so renowned a man
was, like that of “Wonderous Michael Scott,” credited with mysterious
contents. It is alleged that the Emperor Hung-wu, the founder of the
Ming dynasty, once finding himself in company with the Councillor Liu
Pei-wên, in the neighbourhood of this tomb, determined to visit it.
Iron armour was then still in use in China, and the Emperor and his
attendant were habited in the then usual way. Having obtained an
entrance and passed through the ante-chamber, which contained an
inscription to the effect that whosoever visited the tomb should have
his hands bound by the defunct—a prediction verified by the fact that
in squeezing through the entrance the visitors had to so wedge
themselves as to be virtually incapable of using their arms—they broke
open a second door. Within the room thus entered were several figures
built of loadstone, which attracted the armour of the unbidden guests.
Terrified at the unknown force which was dragging them forwards they
hastily cast off their armour and fled—not before noticing however
another inscription which may be rendered in doggerel:—
I’ll strip off the skin
Of who ventures in
To open this my grave.
The practical experience of the mysterious power residing in the
loadstone figures was quite enough for the Emperor, who did not stop to
see if anything worse might befall him. The tomb was closed, and the
tradition of Hwang-wu’s visit is still recounted by the story-tellers
of the neighbourhood.
Another and perhaps better-known version of the (doubtless) same story
refers it to the tomb of Confucius who was buried in the hill of
Keu-fau in Shantung. His disciple Tze-kung is related to have covered
the coffin of the great philosopher with loadstone. When the Emperor
Chin gave orders to open the tomb the pick-axes were attracted by the
magnetic fluid, as was also the armour worn by the soldiers, so that it
was found impossible to proceed with the work. Hence the tomb of
Confucius has never been violated. Absurd as both stories are they
point to a belief in the powers of the loadstone which was readily
accepted by mediæval Europe.
The principle that good deeds generally bring a substantial reward,
underlying so many legends and tales in all parts of the world, is
sedulously encouraged by Chinese folk-lore. The Servian story entitled
“Animals as friends and enemies,” [176] in which the hero is rewarded
for not killing the fox, bear, wolf, hare &c., has numerous variants in
native lore. A proverb referring to “The bird which brought the yellow
flower” tells how a Chinese, seeing a bird fall to the ground wounded
by an arrow, draws out the weapon and nurses the bird until it has
recovered. Some time afterwards the man falls sick and is about to die,
when the grateful bird brings him some yellow flowers in its bill,
assuring him that if he makes and takes a decoction of their petals his
life will be saved. Another story tells how another bird, rescued from
the talons of a more powerful companion, rewards its preserver by
bringing him four silver bracelets; while a third recounts how (in flat
contradiction to the Æsopian fable) the Emperor Ho-ti 和帝 found a
wounded serpent in his path and, having cured and released it, was
rewarded by a carbuncle of exceeding brightness brought to him by the
snake. Chinese story books abound with tales similar to the Servian
story, “One good turn deserves another,” in which a supernatural being
is imprisoned by a certain king, whose son having released him secures
the being’s aid in all his undertakings.
The saying of the English Queen that when she died the name of Calais
would be found engraved on her heart reminds us of a popular Chinese
tale concerning an enamoured boatman, who being obliged, while plying
his daily avocation, to pass beneath the window of a beauteous maiden,
fell violently in love with her. His passion was reciprocated, but
after a time the young lady died. On being opened (the idea of a
Chinese post-mortem on a disconsolate maiden is, by the way, quite as
wonderful as anything else!) her heart was found to be of iron, upon
which was painted or engraved a picture of the boat, the window, and
the two lovers. [177] This being shewn to the bereaved boatman he
instantly expired, his body turning to ashes! We are gravely informed
that this event happened about B.C. 350.
Like the Italian original of our own popular and faithless Punch, his
Chinese brother has a legendary origin. Punch and Judy shows, indeed,
are, in some quarters, alleged to have been introduced into Europe from
China. Be that as it may Po-tai-hsi (布袋戲), so called because the
showman used to cover his head with a linen bag in order that his face
might not distract attention from the puppets, date back to at least
260 B.C. The received legend asserts that about this date a lady named
Oh, (閼) wife of a general named Mao-tun, was besieging the city of Ping
in Shen-si. Its defender Chan-ping knowing the lady to be of a very
jealous disposition, invented a puppet in the shape of a wooden woman,
which was made by strings and springs to dance on the battlements of
the beleaguered town. As he intended, Mrs. Oh became alarmed at the
idea of so fascinating a creature falling into her husband’s hands and
becoming an addition to his seraglio; and she consequently raised the
siege! In memory of this “happy thought” similar, but smaller, puppets
were constructed whose antics have for two thousand years amused the
Chinese populace. The principal puppet used to be known as “Kwoh, the
bald” in memory, as it is averred, of a man of that name who having
lost his hair in sickness began on his recovery to jump and dance.
[178] Rather hazy and contradictory ideas indeed prevail in China of
the origin of the amusing vagabond, different stories being told at
different places. So simple an explanation as that of some ingenious
native having determined to turn an honest penny by reproducing in
miniature the jokes of the stage, seems however to have been ignored. I
may in passing note that Lord Macartney, in his Journal, speaks highly
of these exhibitions. The pandean pipe of the drummer is in China
replaced by that most ear-splitting of instruments, a native clarionet.
That so important a shrub in Chinese eyes as that which produces tea
should have a legendary origin is hardly surprising. The virtues of the
cup which “cheers but not inebriates” have been sung by the Cowpers of
China from time immemorial, and of this fact most people are aware. It
may be less generally known that a vulgar (Buddhistic) legend
attributes the production of the first plant to Bodhi-dharma, the 28th
Indian and first Chinese patriarch of the Buddhist hierarchy. He
brought the famous patra (almsbowl of the Buddhist mendicant, regarding
which Indian legend has some wonderful accounts) to China, which he
reached in the year 520 A.D. [179] Kæmpfer, in his well-known Dutch
work on Japan, thus tells the story. [180] “About A.D. 519 this Dharma
came to China. His object was to bring the inhabitants of this populous
country to the knowledge of God and to preach to them his Gospel and
service.... He went further and strove by godly grace to lead a most
exemplary life, exposing himself to all the hardships of the storm and
tempest; chastising and mortifying his body and bringing all his
passions under subjection. He lived only upon the herbs of the fields,
and considered it the highest degree of holiness to pass the day and
night in an uninterrupted and unbroken Satori, that is the
contemplation and meditation of the godly essence; to deny all rest and
recreation to his body and to dedicate his soul wholly and entirely to
God was in his opinion the truest penance and the most eminent degree
of goodness to which human nature could attain. After many years of
this continual watching he was at length so weary and tired by his work
that he fell asleep. On awaking the following morning and seeing that
he had broken his vow, he determined to do penance to show his sincere
sorrow; and that this misfortune should not occur again he cut off both
his eyelids as the instruments and servants of his crime and threw them
on the ground.
“Returning to this place on the following day he remarked a wonderful
change, and that each eyelid had become a shrub; and the same which we
now call tea, whose virtues and use were at that time as unknown as the
plant itself. Dharma, on eating the leaves of this plant (fresh and
green, for infusing them in water was unknown), found with astonishment
that his heart was filled with extraordinary joy and gladness, and that
his soul had acquired renewed strength and power to enable him to
continue his godly contemplations. This event and the extraordinary
virtues of the tea plant he immediately brought to the notice of a
number of his disciples, together with the manner in which it was to be
used.... And hence it comes that since that time to the present, the
learned have made no remarks about it, and that some have considered it
sufficient to attribute its origin to the eyelids of Dharma.” The
translator shows however that tea was not unknown in China in the third
and fourth centuries, so that the legend bears the impress of modern
invention. Its existence is repudiated by modern Buddhist scholars, and
it is essentially a mere vulgar tale. But, accepted as such, it is
interesting in the hint it gives us of the Hindu myth, wherein the
falcon who undertook to steal the heavenly Soma (drink of immortality)
had a claw and a feather shot off by a demon arrow. They fell to the
earth and took root, the claw becoming a species of thorn and the
feather a palasa tree, the Indian representative of the rowan or
mountain ash. [181] The classic origin of the hyacinth (from the blood
of Ajax), the growth of mint from the body of Minthe the mistress of
Pluto, the almond tree which sprang from the corpse of Phyllis, and
numerous other legends familiar to our schoolboy days all embody the
same idea of the human body, or a portion of it, springing up anew in
the shape of some member of the vegetable world.
The cocoa-nut tree is also the subject of a fanciful Chinese legend.
“The prince Liu Yeh having had a quarrel with Prince Sueh sent a man to
assassinate him; this he did while his victim was in a state of
intoxication. His head was then suspended on a tree, and it became
metamorphosed into a cocoa-nut with two eyes on the shell. Thus the
fruit acquired the name of Yueh-wang-tʻou or Prince Yueh’s head.” [182]
The cocoa-nut is now known as the Ye Tzu, owing, as is alleged, to the
fact that during the Ching dynasty princes have been called “Ye.” The
fable is not countenanced by the Pen Tsao or native herbal, but is
gravely recorded by Chinese authors. It is noteworthy that vessels made
of cocoa-nut shell are supposed to betray the presence of poison in the
liquids they contain, either ebullition taking place or the vessel
bursting. Spoons made of the same material are in Ceylon supposed to
possess similar virtues.
An interesting parallel to Western beliefs is found in the legendary
virtues attributed by the Chinese to mercury and its preparations. The
native term for Quicksilver—water-silver—is the equivalent of the Greek
and Latin terms. Sulphide of mercury is called hsien tan 仙丹 of which
our phrase “Philosopher’s stone” is a sufficiently near rendering; and
this, like the long-sought secret of western alchemists, is supposed to
have the power of conferring immortality. Stories in which this
substance figures as a supernatural agent are to be frequently met with
in Chinese books.
Household tales reminding one of the “Judgment of Solomon” find place
in Chinese folk-lore—as indeed they appear to do in that of nearly all
Asiatic nations. One of the most original I have heard, introducing as
it does a supernatural element, is as follows. During the time of the
Sung dynasty there lived a man, a maker of marriage ornaments, and his
wife, who loved each other dearly. A white dog versed in magic having
seen the woman, who was remarkably good-looking, determined to win her,
and in order to carry out his project transformed himself into an exact
likeness of her lawful husband. Mistakenly calculating on the absence
of the latter, he visited the wife just as the real husband was
returning, and she was accordingly thrown into a state of the most
extraordinary doubt at beholding two “Simons Pure,” as they appeared to
be, at the same moment. Unable to decide between them, she insisted on
their at once accompanying her to the magistrate’s yamên—a proposition
to which, from very different motives, they both assented. Upon the
parties making their appearance, the magistrate, like the wife, was at
first completely puzzled. Suspecting however that one of the claimants
was a dog in disguise he remembered that a tiger confined on the
premises was accustomed to feed on dogs though it had never attacked
men. He therefore placed both husbands in the tiger’s cage. The tiger
at once flew at and devoured the dog which had assumed a man’s
disguise, leaving the real husband untouched; and the reunited pair
left the yamên, praising the sagacity of the magistrate who had
delivered them from the power of enchantment.
A version however of the real Solomonaic story is to be found in China.
As in the Hebrew tale two women had each of them an infant, one of
which died by misadventure, the bereaved mother claiming the surviving
child. The official before whom they came did not suggest so cruel a
measure as the division of the infant, but simply ordered that it
should be handed to a domestic in his yamên to be brought up for
official life. He rightly surmised that the real mother would gladly
accept so good a chance for her offspring, while the pretended mother,
who only wanted the child in order to dispose of it, would demur.
Judgment was accordingly given in favour of the tearful acceptor of the
proposition, and the story, which is alleged to be historical, is
widely believed. The Chinese are very fond of telling stories having a
similar basis, most of them being, very probably, derived from Indian
or Semitic sources.
Superstitions connected with the use of bread have in China, as amongst
ourselves, formed the basis of legends more or less absurd. Our Good
Friday Hot Cross buns are, as is known, simply relics of the heathen
custom of offering sacred cakes to the gods as propitiatory offerings.
This idea underlies a story related of Chu-ko Liang, the ingenious
minister before mentioned. “Returning from the conquest of Pegu and
reaching a river on the borders of China he found himself surrounded by
a thick fog from which proceeded groans and wailings. On enquiring from
the inhabitants into the cause he was told that they were uttered by
the multitude of dead killed by the pestiferous waters of the stream;
and that to disperse the fog it was necessary to sacrifice forty-nine
men to the river. Shocked at this barbarity he invented loaves bearing
the human figure each with a head and one hand, and threw forty-nine of
them into the water and so dispersed the fog; and, since that time,
bread has been used for the same purpose in China.” It is probable,
however, that the use of bread for such purposes by the Chinese existed
long before the date of the legend (about A.D. 220). The “Staff of
life” has amongst all nations possessed symbolical attributes, and its
sacrifice to the gods of rivers, &c., is one of the most commonly met
with of superstitious practices.
Dr. S. Wells Williams, in a paper which he prepared for the N. C. B.
Royal Asiatic Society in 1869, drew attention to the interesting tale
from Lew Chew to which I have casually adverted in a previous chapter
and which at once recalls Mr. Baring Gould’s “Swan maidens.” The
Samojed legend in which the theft of the feather dresses is made
instrumental in obtaining atonement for injuries inflicted on the
family of the purloiner is not noticed by the learned author; but he
reminds his readers of the story in the Arabian Nights in which the
hero obtains the daughter of the King of Tʻan by carrying off her dress
of feathers while bathing, and when she eventually flies away with
their two children, follows her to the land of Wak Wak, and remarks
that both Germany and the Shetland islands have similar legends, though
in the latter case the fairy dress was a seal skin. The Lewchewan
legend is translated from the journal of a mission to that country
written by the Envoy Li Ting-yuan in 1801–1803 and is as follows.
“Once in olden time a man named Ming-ling-tzŭ, a farmer in poor
circumstances and of irreproachable character, but without any family,
had a well of delicious water near his house. He went one day to draw
some, and when at a distance saw a bright light in the well: on drawing
near to see what it was, he beheld a woman diving and washing in the
water, who had her clothes on a pine tree. Being displeased at her
shameless ways and at his well being fouled he secretly carried off her
dress. The garments were quite unlike Lewchewan in their style and were
of a ruddy sunset colour, which excited his surprise so that he
cautiously came back to see what change would come about. The woman,
finishing her bath, cried out in great anger, ‘What thief has been here
in broad day? Bring back my clothes, quick.’ She then perceived
Ming-ling-tzŭ and threw herself on the ground before him. He began to
scold her and asked her why she came and fouled his water? to which she
replied that both the pine tree and the well were made by the Creator
for the use of all. The farmer entered into conversation with her and
pointed out that fate evidently intended her to be his wife as he
absolutely refused to give up her clothes, while without them she could
not get away. The result was that they were married. She lived with him
for ten years and bore him a son and a daughter. At the end of that
time her fate was fulfilled, she ascended a tree during the absence of
her husband and having bidden her children farewell glided off on a
cloud and disappeared.” I can find no trace of any similar story in
China proper, though one may exist, and the reappearance of the Keltic
legend in a group of islands in the China sea is a noteworthy
phenomenon. The German and Persian versions are in some sense links in
the chain of connection; but if the theory of a simultaneous eastward
and westward spread of legend from an Aryan source be correct, the fact
is not less striking that in this case it has appeared to leave no
trace in so many of the intermediate countries through which it has
passed to its Ultima Thule on either hand.
Stories in which the example of Penelope is imitated by wives long
deserted by their lawful husbands are sufficiently common. The
following will serve as a specimen:—In the time of the Chow dynasty
there lived a man named Pak-li-shi who was one of those unsettled
adventurers ever longing to enjoy fresh experiences. After being
married a few years to his wife, who gave birth to a son, he one day
disappeared without intimating his intended route. Time passed away
until over thirty years had elapsed, the runaway having meantime risen
to be prime minister in a neighbouring state, while the wife and son
wandered over the country in search of the missing husband and father.
One day his son (who had of course arrived at man’s estate) was
attracted by a proclamation issued in what appeared to be his father’s
name. He informed his mother, who had been compelled by poverty to
become an itinerant sempstress, and they at once devised a means of
obtaining access to his house. Reaching the town where he resided the
mother assumed the rôle of a wandering vocalist and contrived to scrape
acquaintance with some of his servants, from whom she learned that
their master was liable to fits of deep dejection on account of his
being unable to find his family, of whom he had lost sight for many
years. She suggested that some of her songs might soothe his regret and
was accordingly introduced, the denouement being of course a
recognition and reconciliation. Another Chinese story bearing on the
marriage relations, and recalling several well-known tales of home
origin, relates how a military man leaves his mother and wife for the
scene of war and is compelled to remain absent many years. When at
length able to return, he espies at a short distance from his house a
woman who he believes is his wife. Foolishly anxious to test her
fidelity he accosts her (she not recognizing him) and introduces
himself as a friend of her long absent husband. Presently his manner
becomes decidedly warmer than their supposed relations justify, and the
woman, far from any aid, seizes a handful of sand or mud and throws it
in his eyes, availing herself of his temporary inconvenience to escape
to her house. Shortly afterwards, having cleansed his eyes, he likewise
enters the house and makes himself known to his mother, who joyfully
sends to tell her daughter-in-law that the son has returned. The wife
comes out and seeing him to be the man who, pretending to be a
stranger, had offered her violence, begins to upbraid him, and finally
rushing from the room hangs herself. She is, however, cut down in time
and at length suffers herself to be reconciled to her husband.
The still commoner story referred by Mr. Henderson to the “Genœva root”
is as prominent in Chinese as in Western household lore. One native
version relates how a son leaves his young wife and step-mother to look
for employment at a distance from home. The latter hates the wife and
in the absence of her stepson makes her perform the most menial work,
crowning her evil deeds by accusing the poor girl on her husband’s
return of unfaithfulness. The husband, who exaggerates the Chinese
sentiment that the mother’s wishes or assertions rank before those of
the wife, believes his step-mother, and orders his wife to commit
suicide. Before the deed is consummated, however, the wicked
step-mother is killed by lightning. This, in view of the wife’s
protestations of innocence, is accepted as a divine judgment, and the
husband is reconciled to his wife.
Wives of supernatural race are reputed to be acquired in other ways
than that mentioned above (see the Lewchewan story of stealing the
dress). The gods are at times so pleased with the good conduct of
individual mortals that they give him one of the female genii to wife.
A man named Tung Yung was thus favoured and the union was a very happy
one. But as in the previous case the wife’s liking for mortal life
could not outlast a certain term, and, on her husband reaching the
highest rank to which he could aspire, she committed their son to his
care and reascended to the ranks of the genii.
The classic myths relating to children being suckled by animals closely
resemble similar tales from Chinese sources; but the tiger here plays
the part assigned elsewhere to the wolf, &c. A well-known native story
recounts how a husband and wife with their infant child fled during one
of the many rebellions into a desert. While setting up their encampment
a tiger suddenly made his appearance and so scared the parents that,
forgetting the child, they incontinently fled, and were shortly
afterward captured and put to death. The tiger picked up the infant and
bore it to its cave, where (the legend says not how) it was duly
nourished and in time became a well-grown young man. The tiger having
taken a great fancy to its singular nursling led him to some villagers
who at once took charge of him, his foster mother thenceforth
disappearing. The hero lived to avenge his parents’ wrongs and
eventually rose to high office.
Following the example of Mr. Henderson in tabulating the “Story
radicals” illustrated by his interesting work, I arrange hereunder
those to which the foregoing pages have referred. To assume that they
do more than indicate the direction in which further research will
doubtless discover most interesting matter, would be absurd. But the
list, slight as it is, may serve as the basis for a more complete
illustration of the subject at a future day.
STORY RADICALS.
I. RELATING TO HUSBAND AND WIFE.
1.—PENELOPE ROOT.
The husband leaves his wife at home;
She awaits his arrival in fidelity;
They are reconciled after some trouble.
2.—GENŒVA ROOT.
The man goes away leaving his wife at home.
A false charge is brought against her and he orders her death.
Before she dies he discovers his mistake.
They are reconciled.
(Variant.)
The man leaves his wife as before.
He attempts to test her fidelity;
It results in her death, or
It nearly results in her death, but they are reconciled.
3.—SVANHVIT ROOT.
A man sees a woman bathing with her charm dress on the shore.
He steals the dress and she falls into his power.
After some years she recovers the dress and escapes.
He is unable to recover her.
(Variant.)
A man is wedded to a woman of supernatural race.
After some years she becomes tired of earth and escapes.
He cannot recover her.
II. RELATING TO PARENTS AND CHILDREN.
4.—JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON ROOT.
Two mothers have a dispute about offspring;
They refer it to the wisest official they can find:
He tests their bona fides.
The rightful party triumphs.
5.—RHEA SYLVIA ROOT.
Children are exposed by accident or design;
They are suckled by a wild beast;
They eventually rejoin their countrymen, and
Are finally raised to high honour.
III. MEN AND THE UNSEEN WORLD.
6.—ACHERUSIAN ROOT.
A place accessible to mortals affords an entry to the lower world;
Spirits enter and repass;
A mortal visits it and learns secrets of the hereafter.
7.—CITY OF SILENCE ROOT.
Genii are imprisoned in vessels of metal or earthenware by mortals;
They are released by accident or design.
(a) They revenge themselves on those who imprisoned them, or
(b) They accept their release with thankfulness.
8.—MAGICAL CONFLICT ROOT.
Two persons with supernatural powers test them against one another.
They pass through various transformations;
The better or more powerful one overcomes the other.
(See chapter on Serpents, Dragons &c. for illustration).
9.—HERCULES CUP ROOT.
A mortal is presented by a supernatural being with a cup;
The mortal uses it as a means of transport;
If pursued the pursuers abandon the chase on perceiving his magic
cup.
10.—ALI BABA ROOT.
A mysterious cave opens and shuts at the command of a master
endowed with magic powers.
A stranger learns and uses the pass-word.
He acquires riches or advantages from his knowledge, but,
Some one is sacrificed to ensure his good fortune.
IV. MEN IN CONFLICT WITH NATURAL INFLUENCES.
11.—MAGIC TOMB ROOT.
A tomb possesses magnetic powers;
An attempt is made to open or enter it;
The attempt wholly or partially fails.
V. MAN MATCHED WITH MAN.
12.—QUEEN DIDO ROOT.
Strangers visit a new country;
By cunning they induce the natives to grant what they do not intend
to the newcomers.
[Chinese Chronicles assert that the Dutch when they first settled in
Formosa adopted a ruse similar to that of Queen Dido. The classic story
is more accurately reproduced in the Ming-shi, containing accounts of
foreign countries, in which the Spaniards, who arrived in the
Philippines about 1574, are narrated to have presented the native chief
with valuable gifts, begging in return the privilege of occupying for
building as much land as could be covered by the hide of an ox.—See
China Review, Vol. iv. p. 386. At all events the story, however
imported or originated, is perfectly well known to the Chinese and as
such is included in my list.]
VI. MEN PERFORM EXTRAORDINARILY HEROIC ACTS.
13.—MARCUS CURTIUS ROOT.
(a) Human life must be sacrificed to close a chasm, or,
(b) Human blood must be infused into a casting to ensure its
success.
(Many variants).
(c) A person sacrifices him or herself accordingly, or,
(d) A person is compelled to do so by force. A successful
result ensues.
VII. MEN AND BEASTS.
14.—BIRD, BEAST AND FISH ROOT, OR “ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER”
ROOT.
A man is asked to aid an animal to escape from confinement, to
recover from sickness &c.
He aids it with good humour.
The man falls into trouble,
The animal aids him in the nick of time.
VIII. PLANTS &C. SPRINGING FROM A PORTION OF THE BODY.
15.—SOMA-BRINGING FALCON ROOT.
A being undertakes extraordinary work.
By its own act or that of others a portion of its body is cleft to
the earth;
The portion taking root, produces a plant;
The plant is thereafter venerated.
Necessarily brief as the foregoing illustrations of the subject under
notice have been they will, it is hoped, suffice to demonstrate the
general resemblance of Chinese vulgar legends to those in vogue
elsewhere. Both in motive and in detail they remind us of the tales
formerly told by our own firesides, and demonstrate the
fact—theoretically admitted by most people, but often practically
ignored—that a common humanity claims the Chinese and the Saxon. And I
may take this opportunity of referring to the objections which are
raised by some sinologues to treating Chinese “old wives tales” as
matters worth serious record and discussion. To those who share those
objections I cannot do better than quote the words of Mr. Henderson.
“It is,” he says, “only of late years that household tales have been
regarded as of interest by men of learning. For long they were thought
to be ‘milk for babes’ but to have nothing in them which could repay a
moment’s study by one who had emerged from childhood. But the great
Grimm saw that in these stories for children lay fragments of ancient
mythology, and he learned to trace them from land to land and thus to
prove them to be precious heirlooms derived from our primeval ancestors
before they parted into separate nationalities.” Without asserting that
all the Chinese versions of the legends above noted can be referred to
a common parentage with those of Europe, and leaving what has here been
dealt with in a single chapter to be further elucidated by more
competent scholars, the instances given of agreement between Western
and Chinese tales are I imagine sufficient to arrest attention. To a
charge of having but slightly discriminated between legends properly so
called and household tales I must plead guilty. But as no purpose was
to be served by observing a strict distinction, the matter may pass.
XIII.—FABLES AND PROVERBIAL LORE.
The use of fables to convey some homely truth or enforce the point of
some moral apothegm, to those who might turn from abstract argument
with indifference, is as familiar to the household world of China as to
that of the West. Strangely enough, however, it does not appear that
the Chinese possess (with two exceptions to be presently mentioned) any
collections of fables properly so called, though their literature
abounds with them as isolated tales. The literati indeed affect to
rather despise them in the abstract, as fit only for the perusal of
women and children, though they do not disdain to employ them at times
with considerable effect. One cause of the supercilious attitude thus
assumed is, very probably, that the only known collections in the
language (forming the exceptions above noted) are translations from
Sanscrit Buddhistic sources, and hence exotic to Chinese thought. Your
true Confucianist—the believer in the dry bones of a system (if system
it be) which, its worldly ethics aside, is the least satisfying of all
known beliefs—scorns Buddhistic fables as he scorns Buddhistic prayers.
Few of the better-read natives will own to any but the most distant
acquaintance with the two works which form almost the sole repositories
of Indo-Chinese fable—the Fa-yuan-chu-lin [183] and the Yu-lin, which
are avowedly adopted from the Pali. But besides this, the officials of
the Empire have a wholesome dread of the satire which a fable may
point, and it is more than probable that any popular collection of the
sort would bring its authors and publishers into trouble. In 1837–38
the late Mr. R. Thom translated eighty-one of Æsop’s fables into
Chinese. We give the result in his own words:—
“When first published in Canton their reception by the Chinese was
extremely flattering. They had their run of the public Courts and
offices until the Mandarins, taking offence at seeing some of their
evil customs so freely canvassed, ordered the work to be suppressed. It
is not the first time that we have elucidated a disputed point by
referring to one of these fables having analogy to the matter in hand;
nay, we remember once stopping the mouths of a party of mandarins, who
insisted that England wanted to quarrel with China, by reciting the
story of the goose that laid the golden eggs. The application was at
once perceived and the justice of the remark admitted immediately. It
will thus be seen that the Chinese officials evince no lack of
appreciation about such matters.” But the power found sufficient to
suppress what is deemed an objectionable brochure is of course unable
to touch the numerous fables which, partly in the much-revered
literature of the Empire and partly by oral relation, have been handed
down to the existing generation of Chinese. To disinter an entire
collection would indeed be a herculean task; but it is easy to cite
some of the best known in illustration of the contention that the
Chinese mind manifests much the same characteristics as that of other
and, as we deem, more civilized races.
The earliest known specimen of a Chinese fable is noticed by Mr. Mayers
in his Manual (p. 282). In the Narratives of the Contending States,
Su-tai, counsellor of the prince of Chao, is said to have related the
following by way of illustrating the necessity of unity amongst those
opposed to or by a common enemy. “A mussel was sunning itself on the
river bank when a bittern came by and pecked at it. The mussel closed
its shell and nipped the bird’s beak. Hereupon the bittern said, ‘If
you don’t let me go to-day, if you don’t let me go to-morrow, there
will be a dead mussel.’ The shell fish answered, ‘If I don’t come out
to-day, if I don’t come out to-morrow, there will surely be a dead
bittern.’ Just then a fisherman came by and seized the pair of them.”
The date of this utterance is given as about B.C. 315, and, if this be
correct, it certainly boasts a respectable antiquity. It is not, of
course, often possible to fix the precise dates of literary invention,
but it does not appear that the claims of Æsop (B.C. 620) as the father
of Western fable need yield in point of antiquity to those of his
Chinese representative, whoever he may have been. The latter, like the
Grecian humourist, most probably contented himself with reciting his
fables, but, less fortunate in his countrymen, has not had his name
handed down to posterity by those who thought his witty or wise sayings
worth preservation in writing. On the other hand, Chinese literature
justly claims preëminence as regards the publication of written fables.
Socrates is indeed alleged to have versified some of Æsop’s fables when
in prison, shortly before his death; but the earliest known Western
collection is dated 150–100 B.C.
A fable tolerably well known (though undoubtedly of Buddhistic origin)
is that of the Cat and the Mice. The most popular version relates how
an old cat was sitting up mewing with half-closed eyes when two mice
happened to see her. Astonished that their old enemy should be taking
things so easily they said to each other, “Puss is evidently reformed;
she is saying her prayers. We need have no fear.” So they began to play
about without noticing her. No sooner had they got within reach,
however, than the cat sprang upon one and devoured him. His companion
rushed home and remarked, “Who would have thought that a cat which shut
her eyes and said her prayers would act like that?” The Indian version
is slightly different. A man had put a rosary round his cat’s neck, for
fun, and the mice, taking this to be a sign of a religious mind on the
part of the cat, congratulated each other and began to make merry. In a
very short time the cat had caught and eaten several of the mice: upon
which the survivors said, “We thought he was praying to Buddha, but his
piety was a mere comedy.” The moral is that those who make a show of
devotion are least to be trusted; or, as others have it, that “some
pray and do bad actions; others don’t pray, but don’t do evil.” Another
favourite fable has given rise to a popular saying. Pigs in Corea, it
avers, are generally black; but a white one having once made its
appearance the king thought it worth offering to the Chinese Emperor,
and accordingly sent ambassadors to present it. When they reached
Peking, however, so many white pigs were to be seen that the
ambassadors saw it would be ridiculous to carry out their mission.
Hence “to offer a white pig to the Emperor” is equivalent to our
“carrying coals to Newcastle.”
Our own (or rather Æsop’s) fable, in which the man who nursed a frozen
snake was bitten for his pains, becomes curiously inverted in the
Chinese version; the snake rewarding its benefactor in a rather more
agreeable manner. Snakes figure in two other well-known fables. In one
a man is represented as having struck a cobra on the head, whereupon
the reptile attacked him with its tail. Striking its tail, the head
forthwith assailed him, and the man then belabouring its middle, both
head and tail went at the assailant. The moral of this is “Never say
die,” or as the Chinese word it “There’s help for everything.” In the
other case we find a reminder of the well-known story of the stomach
and the hands, wherein the latter refuse to work for ever to satisfy an
organ which does nothing to earn its living:—The head and the tail of a
snake quarrelled, the latter averring that it had as good a right to
direct the creature’s movements as had the former, which moreover got
all the enjoyment of eating and drinking. So the tail was allowed to
take charge, and began to move backwards. Unprovided with eyes,
however, it very soon brought both ends to grief, as the snake fell
into a wet ditch whence there was no means of egress, and was drowned.
The well-known French sinologue, Professor Julien, has translated from
the Chinese some forty-five fables derived from Indian sources. The
majority of these are so obviously foreign to Chinese customs that they
cannot be cited as examples of native fable. Five of them only seem to
be at all popularly known, one being that of the snake’s head and tail
above noticed. Of the others the Ass in the Lion’s skin is probably the
most familiar. The Ass takes, in another fable, the place occupied by
the ambitious frog. Desirous of becoming an ox he first of all adopts
the same food. After a time, satisfied that he is going on well, he
essays to change his usual bray for the deep-toned low of his horned
companions. Indignant at the insult they rush upon him and gore him to
death.
Tigers are such favourite subjects of Chinese superstition that it is
natural to find them frequently introduced into fable. The following is
found in the collection translated by Mons. Julien, and is consequently
of Indian origin. A tiger having seized a monkey was about to devour
him; but the monkey, bethinking himself of some means of escape,
suggested that he was too small to make a good meal for a tiger and
offered to conduct his captor to a neighbouring hill where a far more
noble prey might be captured. This was a stag, who, rightly assuming
that the tiger had come for a most unfriendly purpose, concluded that
his only chance was to put a bold face upon the matter, and accordingly
addressed the monkey as follows: “How is this? you promised me ten
tiger-skins but you have only brought one; you still owe me nine.” The
tiger hearing this became alarmed and instantly decamped, vowing that
he never thought the monkey could be so treacherous. Two other fables
in which the tiger figures are, however, purely Chinese. In one case he
is about to attack an ass, but hearing his tremendous bray becomes
alarmed supposing that so much noise can only proceed from one of the
bravest of animals. The ass, however, shewing no inclination to fight,
the tiger advances, and presently hears another bray as loud as the
first. Convinced at last that he has nothing to fear, he rushes on the
ass and devours him. The moral of course is that people who put forth
the greatest pretensions are not most to be dreaded. The second fable
teaches how sagacity is more valuable than strength. A tiger was about
to devour a fox, when the latter demanded exemption on the ground that
he was superior to all other beasts. “If you doubt my word, come with
me and see,” said the fox: so the two set forth in company. Every
animal of course fled at their approach, and the tiger, too stupid to
see that he himself was the cause of their terror, conceived a high
respect for his crafty companion and did not dare to attack him. The
foregoing is one of the many fables recorded in Chinese history as
having been used to point a moral when a ready-witted man was
interrogated by his sovereign.
The fable of the Geese and the Tortoise introduced into China from
Sanscrit sources is essentially the same as the well-known European
version. A couple of geese lived in friendship with a tortoise by the
side of a pond. During the hot weather the pond began to dry up, and
the geese, anxious that their friend should not suffer from want of
water, offered to transport him to some other place where the precious
fluid was abundant. They directed him to seize in the middle, with his
mouth, a stick which they had provided, engaging to carry it by its
ends to the place indicated. “But be sure,” they added, “not to speak
while we are carrying you.” The tortoise promised compliance, and the
three started on their adventurous journey. Some little boys viewing
the novel sight began to shout, “Look at the geese carrying a
tortoise!” and continued shouting so long that the tortoise at last
lost his temper. “What’s that to you!” he retorted. But alas, in giving
vent to his feelings he lost his hold of the stick and falling
downwards to the ground was dashed to pieces. Another fable, which
teaches the moral that people should avoid unsuitable agreements, tells
how two brothers bought a pair of boots between them, it being arranged
that each should wear them in turn. The elder however forgot to
stipulate as to hours and the younger accordingly wore them during the
working part of each day. Afraid to claim his rights, but anxious not
to be wholly “done” the elder brother got up every night to get his
share of the bargain, and between them the boots were soon worn out.
Upon the younger brother proposing that they should buy another pair
the elder said “Not unless you will let me sleep at night.” The satire
upon unequally yoked fellows is clear enough, though some European
readers have failed to see it.
The following fable undoubtedly owes its origin to Hindoo sources, but
is interesting (in view of its being tolerably well known in China) on
account of its obvious derivation from a root which has furnished not
merely fables but “historical” anecdotes to many Western nations.
Stories in which the hero presents himself to the enemies of the
countrymen in a condition arguing that he has been grossly maltreated
by his friends, and from motives of revenge seeks to be received by and
give aid to those to whom he is naturally opposed, are to be found in
the records of nearly all races. The fable of the crows and the owls
adheres to the usually-received texts. Two colonies of crows and owls
respectively lived in close proximity to and hated each other in the
most neighbourly way. As the crows slept by night and the owls by day
each in turn attacked the other when most defenceless, and the
slaughter on either side was great. At length an intelligent crow
remarked that this would never do; some plan of exterminating their
enemies must be hit upon if they were ever to dwell in peace. On being
asked what plan he proposed he told his fellow crows to peck him badly
and pull out a number of his feathers, promising, if that were done, to
effect the destruction of the owls. In this sorry plight he presented
himself at the owl’s domicile, complaining bitterly of the treatment to
which he had been subjected. The owls coming out to see what was the
matter he explained that he had fled to them for shelter, and one of
the owls pitying his hard lot received him into his nest. For a while
all went well, until at length, his feathers having grown again, he set
to work to pile large quantities of brushwood round the owls’ hole,
explaining in answer to their enquiries that he was endeavouring to
return their kindness by heaping up for them a barrier against the cold
winds. Shortly after, a snowstorm came on and all the owls crowded into
the nest to escape it. Watching his opportunity the crow plucked a
firebrand from the fire of some neighbouring peasants and setting light
to the brushwood smothered the owls to death. The moral, “never trust a
renegade,” is obvious enough, and is one which, had it been kept in
mind, might have saved the China of a former age from not a few
revolutions. The difficulty of overcoming evil habits is also well
illustrated in the same collection as that from which the foregoing is
derived. A certain king possessed by a spirit of a false economy gave
orders that all the horses used by his cavalry should in time of peace
be employed in mills. So long as the country was at peace the
arrangement worked admirably. But no sooner were the troops called out
for war than the cavalry found that their horses would only go in a
circular direction and they accordingly fell an easy prey to their
antagonists. It is a pity that no one with sufficient influence to make
himself heard ventures to apply this fable to the so-called “troops”
which compose the major part of the native army.
A very fair satire upon the habit common to some people of “borrowing
trouble” is contained in the following:—A certain rich man who had
lived to an extreme age had assembled all his sons and grandsons to do
honour to his birthday. Despite their felicitations however he wore a
troubled face, until at length some one asked him what was amiss.
“Nothing particular,” he replied; “I was only thinking what trouble I
should have in inviting my guests when my two-hundredth birthday came
round.” To take overmuch thought for the morrow is a common Chinese
failing, and the moral embodied in the foregoing is keenly appreciated
by the populace. Two other fables remind us of old friends in our
schoolboy days, though they are, I believe, purely Chinese. In one a
party of robbers are related to have attacked a village and to have
killed all the inhabitants, save two—one so blind that he was unable to
even grope his way about, and the other so lame that by no possibility
could he manage to run away. But “heaven helps those that help
themselves.” After a deal of trouble the blind man managed to get the
lame man on his back and piloted by his eyes the pair reached a place
where they were charitably provided for. The system of mutual
dependence, so essentially a Chinese virtue, is herein aptly
illustrated. Not bad either is another entitled “The folly of avarice.”
A rich priest had hoarded a fine collection of jewels to which he was
constantly adding, and of which he was inordinately proud. Upon shewing
them one day to a friend, the latter feasted his eyes for some time,
and on taking leave thanked his host for the jewels. “How,” cries the
priest, “I have not given them to you! Why do you thank me?” “Well,”
rejoined his friend, “I have at least had as much pleasure from seeing
them as you can have; and the only difference between us, that I can
see, is that you have the trouble of watching them.”
Despite therefore the fact that popular collections of Chinese fables
are unknown, at all events to all the literary natives to whom the
writer has access—fables themselves are in common use and are of much
the same character as those popular amongst ourselves, doubtless indeed
owning a common origin.
Turning from fables to proverbs a very different state of affairs is
found to prevail. Not only are the Chinese spoken languages richer in
proverbial lore than that of any Western race, but their literature
abounds with that description of short pithy saying so well defined as
“the wisdom of many expressed by the wit of one.” I would here mention
that when this series of chapters on Chinese folklore was first
projected the admirable work of Mr. Scarborough, “A Collection of
Chinese Proverbs,” had not been published, and Mr Lister’s highly
interesting article in the China Review, “Chinese Proverbs and their
Lessons,” [184] was almost the only essay on the subject which had up
to that period appeared in the language. Most works on China indeed
give more or less full lists of common sayings, but Mr Lister was the
first who endeavoured to direct attention to the coincidences of
Chinese thought with that of other peoples. Mr Scarborough’s work has
so amply supplemented all that was previously available respecting
Chinese proverbs, while his introductory essay gives so comprehensive a
view of the whole subject that students of the subject may well be
referred to the volume in question. Dealing, however, strictly with the
matter of comparison between Chinese and Western proverbs, there is
still room for comment. And for this purpose I shall avail myself of Mr
Scarborough’s handy collection.
Out of some 2,700 proverbs and popular sayings which he has brought
together, about one hundred are either word-for-word, or in sense, the
same as common proverbs in use amongst ourselves. Occasionally of
course we find an odd inversion of thought, but in the main they
coincide with curious accuracy. The instances of agreement might be
trebled or perhaps quadrupled if popular quotations from well-known
writers and Biblical texts were also compared. But in the above
estimate I speak merely of proverbs properly so called. On the first
page we have the equivalent of our “Much cry and little wool”—It
thunders loudly, and rains very little, another proverb equivalent to
“Lots of fuss for small profit” containing a hit at the class of small
mandarins. A little further on we find our “Nothing venture nothing
have” transformed into If you don’t enter a tiger’s den you cannot get
his cubs, and the well-known saying “A man is known by the company he
keeps” becomes, Near vermilion one gets stained red, near ink black; a
more vulgar version having it that Near putrid fish you will stink,
near the epidendrum you will be fragrant. That “One swallow doesn’t
make a summer” is taught by A single strand of silk doesn’t make a
thread, or a solitary tree a grove. “Practice makes perfect” is in one
Chinese version, The boxer must not rest his fist or the singer his
mouth, while exactly the same words as our own are also in use, and
“What you do, do well” becomes, If you kill a pig kill him thoroughly.
The Chinese have a number of proverbs implying “More haste less speed,”
which may account for the deliberate way in which, as a nation, they
ignore anything like hurry. In hurry is error; Done leisurely done
well; Slow work fine goods, and What is done hastily is not done well,
may be quoted as examples. But on the other hand they have a hit at
procrastination “the thief of time” in precisely our own words. Another
proverb has it,—Wait till the Yellow River is clear, and how old will
you be? Our “Too many cooks spoil the broth” finds its most literal
rendering in A thousand artizans a thousand plans, but two or three
other proverbs to the same effect are to be found in the collection.
The Chinese have numerous proverbs relating to animals, but the only
one that strikes me as exactly reproducing a Western idea—“Dog doesn’t
eat dog”—is, The heron doesn’t eat heron’s flesh. On no subject are
their sayings more plentiful than trade. Every Chinaman is said to be a
born cook and a born trader, and their most popular proverbs certainly
give colour to the latter part of the assertion. “Use a sprat to catch
a whale” finds its representatives in Throw a brick to allure a gem,
and If a little cash does not go, much cash will not come. “There’s a
time for all things” becomes a business proverb in China, There’s a
time to fish and a time to dry nets. “Take care of the pence &c.” is
not unlike the Chinese Count cash as if it were gold and so avoid the
least mistake; while “There are tricks in all trades” is more politely
expressed by Every trade has its ways. “A penny saved is a penny
gained” is inculcated by Never spend a farthing uselessly. One is
strongly tempted to quote some of the other numerous proverbs relating
to trade and commerce such as Cheap things are not good: good things
are not cheap &c., but the limits imposed of verbal or at least direct
comparison forbid.
The advantages of dealing for ready cash and the inconvenience of debt
are as strongly insisted on in China as in Europe. “A bird in the hand
is worth two in the bush,” say we. The Chinese put it more directly,
Better take eight hundred than give credit for a thousand cash, Better
twenty per cent in ready money than thirty on credit; to which by the
way, our “A nimble nine-pence is better than a slow shilling” is
perhaps the most literal parallel. “He that goes a borrowing goes a
sorrowing” is enforced on the Chinese mind by an ingenious pun in one
of the words of the proverb—a practice sufficiently common in China to
be worth explanation. The word Chʻien debt is thus written:—欠,—the
lower half of the character being 人 jén, signifying a man. The proverb
runs “Debt presses on the head of a man,” the chʻien being supported by
jén. Our assertion that a man “Robs Peter to pay Paul” is expressed in
Chinese by, He tears down the Eastern to repair the Western wall.
The Chinese equivalent of “A bad carpenter quarrels with his tools” is:
All unskilful fools quarrel with their tools,—not a quite literal but
sufficiently accurate rendering. “Cobbler stick to your last” has
several equivalents, such as The teacher should not leave his books or
the poor man his pigs; Better be master of one than jack of all trades;
Separate hongs (mercantile houses) are like separate hills, and The
river does not overflow the well. “Two of a trade never agree” is
essentially a Chinese saying, and so is our well-known aphorism that
“Dress makes the man,” the native version being that Dress makes the
Gentleman or Lady, varied to the form That as a house needs man to set
it off, so man needs clothes. Household affairs come in for a full
share of Chinese proverbial philosophy. “Early to bed &c.” is
represented by Three days’ rising gains one day’s work. “To wash your
dirty linen at home” is advised in the more prosaic Don’t spread abroad
domestic foibles, and the well-known saying, (hardly a proverb perhaps)
“Alas ’tis easier far to rule a kingdom than a wife” is but the English
version of the Chinese It is easier to rule a kingdom than to regulate
a family. “A man’s a man for a’ that” finds exact reproduction in the
Chinese saying that A stick’s a stick whether long or short; A man’s a
man whether great or small; and our popular saying that “There are as
good fish in the sea as ever came out of it” is aptly paralleled by, If
there’s no light in the East there will be in the West.
The idea expressed in our “Breaking a butterfly on the wheel” is
familiarized in China by the saying He fells a tree to catch a
blackbird and He shoots a sparrow with a cannon, as is that of
“Carrying coals to Newcastle” by Offering the filial classic for sale
at the door of Confucius; while the Chinaman who “Buys a pig in a poke”
is said To buy a cat in a bag. We say “Shutting the stable door when
the horse is stolen.” The Chinese put it, Fighting the wall when the
robbers have gone, equally illustrative of useless effort when the
danger is over. The principle that leads the world to “Give to him that
hath” is evidently no stranger to Chinese practice. Mr. Scarborough
versifies the native proverb as follows:
“A lucky man is stout and fair
And men lend him service as much as he wants.
A luckless man is burnt and spare
And he asks for a loan which no man grants.”
“To kill two birds with one stone” is pretty closely followed in the
native version “To accomplish two things at one effort.” Our “All roads
lead to Rome” is literally the same, the word Peking alone being
substituted for that of Rome. A more verbose version of the proverb
implies the same truth. “Strike while the iron is hot” is another
instance of word-for-word agreement; and “There’s a time for
everything” is reproduced in Where it’s a time for drinking wine drink
it, When the place is suitable cry aloud. Our well-known “Lookers-on
see most of the game” differs but slightly from Men in the game are
blind to what lookers-on see clearly. “It’s of no use crying over spilt
milk” is very like the Chinese, Spilt water can’t be gathered up again.
Happiness and misery furnish as fruitful a source for proverbs amongst
the Chinese as amongst Western nations, some of their sayings being
extremely terse and to the point. They assert that Happinesses never
come in pairs; calamities never come single, a belief not confined to
the inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom. Life and death, of course, come
in for their share of wise (or unwise) sayings, though the former
certainly predominate. When Shakespeare wrote that “all the world’s a
stage” he was unconsciously plagiarizing the Chinese, Man’s life is
nought but theatrical performance. That men are apt to discover secrets
when under the influence of liquor (“When the wine’s in the wit’s out,”
In vino veritas, &c.,) the Chinese know as well as we do. Wine, they
say, is a discoverer of secrets, and they have numerous sayings of the
same kind. We assert moreover that “Walls have ears,” and so do they.
The recommendation to “Do in Rome as the Romans do” is paraphrased,
Meeting men or devils talk as they do, a proverb eminently in
accordance with Chinese caution. So too they adhere to the principle
expressed in “What every one says must be true,” the native version
being almost the same.
Blind leadership is satirized in the identical words of the evangelist
“If the blind lead the blind, &c.” A similar reproduction of language
applies to the proverb “The boy is father to the man,” the Chinese
saying You may see the man in the boy. “Good wine needs no bush” is
equally well expressed by A good-looking woman needs no rouge. Some of
the proverbs about women, by the way, are more pungent than polite. A
greedy fellow is characterized in the same language in both English and
Chinese as some one with his eyes bigger than his belly. “Every man for
himself” is another cynical saying common to both countries. “Cheap and
nasty” is expressed in Chinese by If you buy cheap firewood, you burn
the bottom of your copper. So too “Cut your coat according to your
cloth” becomes with a slight revision, Cut your cloth according to your
measure. “Once bitten twice shy” is another instance of verbal
agreement, except that the Chinese saying is less terse.
Most nations have a saying to the effect that the wearer knows best
where the shoe pinches. The Chinese mean the same when they say Rats
know Rats’ ways. “Let sleeping dogs lie” is a worldly-wise saying which
the Chinese fully appreciate, only they apply it to tigers instead of
dogs. “A chip of the old block” or “Like father like son” is expressed
by Dragons give birth to Dragons and Phœnixes hatch Phœnixes. Nor has
the Wise King’s saying “Spare the rod, and spoil the child” been
ignored in China, the same idea exactly underlying a proverb in which
the effects of due correction and spoiling are contrasted. “Two heads
are better than one” is equally acknowledged in the saying, One man’s
plan is short; two men’s plan is long.
Chinese proverbs regarding “Heaven” as the supreme arbiter of human
affairs are more numerous than one would expect to find amongst a
people so idol-ridden as the Chinese. It is noteworthy that in this
connection “Heaven” is invariably used as we use it in popular sayings
to imply “the one great Cause.” Thus, as we say, “Man proposes, God
disposes” the Chinese say A thousand human schemes may be wrecked by
one scheme of heaven. [185] Similar sayings are so numerous, that they
suggest an as yet (apparently) unrecognized belief in a one
all-powerful cause. Every student of Chinese is of course acquainted
with the popular acceptation of the term. But it would almost seem (if
the collection of proverbs before us is to be accepted as a guide) that
the word more nearly expresses the Christian idea of the Creator than
any other in the Chinese vocabulary.
“Murder will out” say we. The Chinese intimate that a Body buried in
the snow is sure to be eventually discovered. Our estimate of the value
of time, again, is reproduced in words that match with the proverb
already quoted respecting prevarication: An inch of time is like an
inch of gold. It is perhaps scarcely accurate to quote “Mens sana in
corpore sano” as a proverb. But at all events the Chinese reproduce it
in A calm mind makes a cool body. “The poor have no friends” is another
very literal rendering of a Chinese proverb, and “Money makes the world
wag” is very fairly rendered by In the presence of money all quarrels
expire, or Money hides many offences; while as a concluding specimen I
may quote the well-known “First come first served” expressed in Chinese
by, The first who comes becomes prince, the second minister.
It cannot of course be pretended that the foregoing is by any means an
exhaustive summary of the various proverbs which imply similar
intentions on the part of their inventors, European or Asiatic. But it
will suffice to show how striking are the agreements on certain
well-defined subjects, and, it is hoped, to support the general
principle laid down in these pages that Chinese thought is, at bottom,
very similar to our own. It may well be that proverbs relating to
temporal welfare only, spring up spontaneously and independently in
each country. But what are we to make of the monotheistic spirit
pervading the numerous sayings in which the “Heaven” of the Chinese
answers to the “God” of Christian Europe or the “Jehovah” of the chosen
race? Is this too the spontaneous invention of an isolated people, or
is it the surviving trace of a long-forgotten worship, when the
ancestors of the Chinaman and the Semite worshipped at the same shrine?
This is not the place to discuss such a question, but it nevertheless
suggests itself, and is worth a more careful investigation than has yet
been accorded to it by the enthusiastic champions of Shang-ti and Shên.
In the opinion of many, sufficient reason has not yet been adduced to
justify a refusal to adopt the only phrase acknowledged by the Chinese
to convey the idea expressed by our word “Creator” or “Almighty.”
In concluding these hasty sketches of the various departments of
Chinese folk-lore, the writer cannot but express a hope that each
division of the subject will before long receive fuller elucidation
from competent pens. Conscious of the superficial character of much
that is here written he can only regret that time and opportunity have
not allowed him to deal more satisfactorily with the information at
command. To those who look upon the folk-lore of a people as affording
a key to many curious problems concerning its origin and progress, the
foregoing chapters may afford useful hints. Many subjects might be
dealt with more advantageously in special volumes than within the brief
limits of a single chapter. The writer will however be satisfied if his
efforts tend in any way to bridge the existing gulf between the two
peoples, by illustrating, even to a limited degree, the Chinese
assertion that “Men of the four seas are (after all) brothers.”
THE END.
NOTES
[1] Luther himself believed in the existence of a stone (the ætita),
which superstition gave out was to be found in eagle’s nests, and which
possessed the power of detecting thieves! It is not, we imagine,
generally known that Luther was grossly superstitious—but he was. It
is, we think, in the Colloquia Mensalia, edited by Lauterbach, that
Luther is said to have expressed his belief in, among other traditions,
the following—that three toads spitted on a stick extracted poison from
wounds; that the swan sang sweetly before death; that the electors of
Germany could touch for the scrofula, and that the 38th year of man’s
life was one of peculiar danger to him.—Englishman.
[2] See Report N. C. B. R. A. S., 1873.
[3] Wade’s Wen ta pien, Ch. XVIII.
[4] Kelly’s Indo-European Traditions and Folk-lore, Preface, p. IX.
[5] 如意.
[6] Marriage of the Emperor of China: By L. M. F., p. 25.
[7] Children born between midnight and dawn are thought by the North
country folk to be endowed with a sort of second sight, “so that they
see spirits,” or, as a nurse puts it, “are bairns that see more than
other folk.”—See Henderson’s Notes on Folk-lore, p. 3.
[8] If the Chinese lay great stress on the hour of birth, we no less
attribute to the day a talismanic influence over the future of the
newborn child; as witness the goodwives’ rhyme:—
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for its living,
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is blythe and bonnie, and good and gay.
Or, as another version has it:—
Born on a Sunday a gentleman,
Born on a Monday fair of face,
Born on a Tuesday full of grace,
Born on a Wednesday sour and glum,
Born on a Thursday welcome home,
Born on a Friday free in giving,
Born on a Saturday work hard for your living.
[9] Doolittle’s Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. I., p. 117.
[10] The ring of the door is bound with a white linen cloth in
Holland—See Brand’s Pop. Antiq., vol. 2, p. 72. This appears to have
had a superstitious origin quite distinct from the practice into which
it has degenerated in England of “muffling” the knocker, so that its
use may not disturb the mother and child.
[11] The Romans admired the number 3, and numerous Western
superstitions are based on its being regarded as a “lucky number.”—See
Predictions Realized, by H. Welby, p. 15.
[12] Doolittle’s Social Life of the Chinese, p. 121. Mr. Doolittle
refers the tying of the wrists to a different motive. “It is,” he says,
“thought that such a tying will tend to keep the child from being
troublesome in after life and from meddling with what does not belong
to it, just as though he or she was bound. When boys or girls are
naughty or troublesome they are often asked if their mammas did not
bind their wrists? Implying that if their wrists had been properly
bound when an infant they would have been restrained from misconduct in
subsequent life.” I am disposed, however, to refer the origin of the
custom to the belief I have stated in the text, though the Chinese of
to-day may look upon it rather as symbolical than efficacious as regard
demons.
[13] Brand’s Pop. Antiq., vol. II. p. 73.
[14] The modern Greeks entertain a similar belief referring to the
first eight days of a child’s life.
[15] Social Life of the Chinese, vol. I. p. 127.
[16] The first verse of a fragment given in Henderson’s Folk-lore of
the Northern Counties says:—
“Oh rock not the cradle when the baby’s not in,
For this by old women is counted a sin,
It’s a crime so inhuman it may na’ be forgi’en,
And they that would do it ha’e lost sight of heaven.”
[17] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II. p. 120.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Henderson’s Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 6.
[20] Brand’s Popular Antiquities, Vol. III. pp. 288–89.
[21] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. I. p. 134.
[22] See Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. IV. pp. 12, 13.
[23] Henderson’s Notes on the Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p.
22.
[24] In some parts of England wheat was cast on the head of the
newly-made bride. The same practice obtains in Sicily. This was also a
Hebrew custom. In Russia, when the priest has tied the nuptial knot at
the altar, his clerk or sexton throws upon the bride’s head a handful
of hops, wishing she may prove as fruitful as the plant thus scattered.
[25] Ovid notes the month of May as unlucky for marriages, and the old
Roman Calendars forbade them on Feb. 11, June 2, Nov. 2, Dec. 1, &c.
For much curious information on this subject see Brand’s Popular
Antiq., Vol. 2, p. 168.
“If you marry in Lent
You will live to repent,”
says an old English north-country rhyme, and numerous are our other
sayings about fortunate days for the all-important ceremony.
[26] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. I. p. 74.
[27] Ibid., Vol. I. p. 94.
[28] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. I. p. 86.
[29] Popular Antiquities, Vol. III. p. 95.
[30] The Jews also used lamps and torches in their marriage ceremonies
or rather when the bridegroom came to conduct home the bride by night.
See Kitto’s Cyclopædia of Biblical Literature, Art. “Lamp.”—Hymen, the
god of marriage, was always figured as bearing a torch, and there are
numerous references to the use of torches at marriages in the classical
poets. Homer, Euripides and Virgil refer to it, and Lane in his Modern
Egypt, I. 201, notices a similar custom in vogue amongst the Egyptians.
Apropos of lamps and lanterns, it is interesting to note that the
“Feast of lanterns” is not peculiar to China. The Egyptians had a
“Feast of Lamps,” as had also the Jews. Josephus states that the latter
was founded by Judas Maccabæus in celebration of the restoration of the
Temple worship. Other Oriental nations also observe a similar festival.
[31] Middle Kingdom, Vol. II. p. 59.
[32] Platt’s Customs of Nations, p. 278.
[33] Brand’s Pop. Antiq., Vol. II. p. 169.
[34] Thorpe’s Mythology, Vol. II. p. 108.
[35] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. I. p. 88.
[36] “It’s all very well to say that ‘the two are made one’—the
question is, which one.”—American paper.
[37] “If you change the name and not the letter,
You change for the worse and not for the better.”
Henderson’s Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 26.
As a specimen of the absurd stories connected with weddings which
obtain credence amongst the Chinese, I copy the following from a
Shanghai Evening Courier of a few months back:—In some district of
Chekiang, name and time not stated, a bride, long betrothed, on
attaining the age of 18 made the usual preparations for marriage. At
length the bridal chair arrived to convey her to her future home. Her
friends went before her to open the door of the chair, but on doing so
they started, screamed and ran away, saying there was a large snake in
the chair. The bride, possibly thinking they were only in jest, went
herself and looked into the chair, and saw, not a snake, but a large
sheathed knife. Nothing daunted, she took the knife, put it in the box
containing the lighter portions of her trousseaux, and ordered the
chair-coolies to proceed. The marriage ceremonies being in due time
completed, the young couple retired, and the bridegroom then observed
that his bride had a moody and terrified look. Questioning her as to
the cause, she told him the incident of the chair, the snake and the
knife. He asked to see the knife: she gave it to him. He drew it from
its sheath, but he had no sooner done so than his head fell off! The
bride raised an alarm; the family crowded in. She told what had
happened; they refused to believe her, and declared that she herself
was the murderess. The Magistrate was sent for; he came, and on hearing
the bride’s story, asked to see the knife, and, as in the husband’s
case, when he drew it from the sheath, his head at once fell on the
floor. The newly-made widow was then told to see whether she could
wield the knife with safety. She took it, and approaching a large tree
made a cut at it. It was cut through by that single blow, while the
woman remained unharmed. Here the legend ends abruptly, as
inconsequential in its finish as it is grotesque in texture. Yet it is
astonishing what excitement was caused in the teashops of the City and
Settlement for some days by the telling and hearing of the story.
[38] A recent home paper contains the following:—In a village not far
from Berlin, an old couple lived very quietly upon their little
property. Both had carefully purchased their coffins some years ago, as
is often the case among country folks. The coffins were placed in a
stable, and were used as receptacles for different things, especially
for storing up baked fruit, and other articles to be kept for winter
use. Not long ago the man died suddenly. The son, who was a soldier
quartered at Berlin, hastened at the summons to pay the last respects
to his father’s remains. In the meantime, the mother had, with the help
of another son who lived with her, put all the articles together in one
of the coffins, and in the other had duly placed the mortal remains of
her husband. By some mischance the first-named coffin was buried, and
the mistake was only discovered after the funeral, which, to the great
distress of the family, had to be repeated.
[39] Two or three amusing stories are told of Yorkshire people who kept
their coffins ready for use. One of these relates to a man with a
projecting Roman nose, who had a place cut away in the coffin-lid to
fit it: and another case was that of an old lady who had two holes cut
in the sides to let his Satanic Majesty have free egress should he
happen to get inside.
[40] A cat was not permitted to come near a corpse in Scotland. Brand’s
Antiquities, Vol. II. p. 233. “All fire is extinguished where a corpse
is kept, and it is reckoned so ominous for a dog or a cat to pass over
it, that the poor animal is killed without mercy.”—Pennant’s Tour in
Scotland.
[41] We know an old lady, as blithe a body as ever lived in this world,
who, years ago, prepared becoming garments ready for her last journey.
David Garrick’s widow religiously preserved her wedding-sheets, that
they might serve her for a shroud. In 1763 a young married lady was, at
her express desire, buried in all her wedding finely, consisting of a
white negligée and petticoats, quilted into a mattress, pillow, and
lining for her coffin; her wedding-shift was her winding-sheet, and she
wore a fine point-lace tucker, handkerchief, ruffles, and apron, and a
lappethead of the same costly materials. Diamond earrings were placed
in her ears, gemmed rings on her fingers, and a valuable necklace round
her neck; white silk stockings, and silver-spangled shoes with stone
buckles completed her costume. A Norfolk gentleman preserved such a
happy recollection of matrimonial life, that when, at the age of
ninety-one, he lay on his death-bed, he gave instructions that he
should be buried in his wedding-shirt, which he had carefully kept for
the purpose; that garment being supplemented with his best suit of
clothes, his best wig, his silver-buckled shoes, black wrist ribbons,
and his favorite walking-cane. Margaret Coosins, who was buried in
Cuxton Churchyard, Kent, in 1683, ordered her body to be attired in
scarlet satin, put in a mahogany coffin having a loose lid, and placed
upon trestles in a vault under a pyramidal monument, the glass doors of
the vault being covered with green silk curtains. Another example of
vanity strong in death was afforded us a few years ago, when a wealthy
court milliner left strict injunctions behind her that her body should
be enfolded in point-lace.—Chambers’ Journal.
[42] Moresin says a candle was an Egyptian hieroglyphic for
life.—Brand’s Antiquities, Vol. II. p. 236.
[43] Middle Kingdom, Vol. II. p. 262. This superstition appears to be
perhaps the most wide-spread of any connected with death. When a death
takes place, in many parts of Europe, all the doors and windows should
be unfastened, as it is thought that the first pains of purgatory are
inflicted by the soul squeezing through the closed doors. We have
something like this in Swift’s “Journey from this World to the Next,”
where the spirits, conversing on their way to the throne of “Micros,”
relate to each other how they had to wait till an open door or window
in the house in which the death had taken place, enabled them to get
free from it. There is a curious superstition in Devonshire that the
departure of life is delayed where any lock is closed in the dwelling
or any bolt shot. See Popular Antiquities, Vol. II. p. 231.
[44] The following extract from the same journal merits
reproduction:—“In many parts of the Highlands it is believed to this
day that the last person buried has to perform the duty of sentinel
over the churchyard, and that to him the guardianship of the spirits of
those buried before is in some degree committed. This post he must
occupy until a tenant of the tomb releases him. It is not esteemed an
enviable position, but one to be escaped if possible; consequently, if
two neighbors die on the same day, the surviving relations make great
efforts to be first in closing the grave over their friend. I remember
an old nurse, who was mourning the death of a sweet girl she had
reared, exclaiming with joy, when she heard, on the day after her
funeral, of the death of a parishioner; ‘I thank God my dear darling
will have to watch the graves no longer!’ A ludicrous but striking
illustration of this strange notion occurred some years ago in the
parish of A——. An old man and an old woman, dwelling in the same
township, but not on terms of friendship—for the lady, Kate Ruadh, was
more noted for antipathies than attachments—were both at the point of
death. The good man’s friends began to clip his nails, an office always
performed just as a person is dying. He, knowing that his amiable
neighbor was, like himself, on the verge of the grave, roused himself
to a last effort and exclaimed ‘Stop, stop; you know not what use I may
have for all my nails in compelling Kate Ruadh to keep Faire Chlaidth
in place of doing it myself.’” In the statistical account of Scotland,
xiv., 210, Parishes of Kilfinichen and Kilviceuen, County of Argyle, we
read: “The inhabitants are by no means superstitious, yet they still
retain some opinions handed down by their ancestors, perhaps from the
time of the Druids. It is believed by them that the spirit of the last
person buried watches round the churchyard till another one is buried,
to whom he delivers his charge.” In the same work, xxi., 114, it is
said: “In one division of the country, where it is believed that the
ghost of the person last buried kept the gate of the churchyard till
relieved by the next victim of death, a singular scene occurred when
two burials were to take place on the same day. Both parties staggered
forward as fast as possible, to consign their respective friend in the
first place to the dust. If they met at the gate, the dead was thrown
down until the living decided by blows whose ghost should be condemned
to porter it.” It was the duty of the last person interred to stand
sentry at the graveyard gate from sunset until the crowing of the cock
every night until regularly relieved. This, sometimes, in
thinly-inhabited parts of the country, happened to be a tedious and
severe duty; and the duration of the “Faire Chlaidth” gave the
deceased’s surviving friends much uneasiness.
[45] Ethnological Review, Vol. II. No. 3, p. 231.
[46] In Madagascar as amongst the natives of the Carribbees, New Guinea
and Kergistan, it is believed that the dead can use the things
destroyed as offerings to their manes, such as guns, &c., &c.
[47] For much here given I am indebted to the Social Life of the
Chinese, Vol. I. p. 188 et seq. Mr. Chris. T. Gardner, of H. B. M.
Consulate, Canton, has also kindly furnished me with several useful
notes and memoranda.
[48] See Eitel’s Fung-shuey.
[49] Pop. Antiq., Vol. II. p. 282.
[50] Why is Death commonly harbingered by apparitions in female shape,
according to the superstitions of the East and the North, as well as of
classical antiquity? The Greeks held that human life was controlled by
the Fates. The Northmen had their Valkyriur, or female choosers of the
slain. The companions of Anastasius in the prison at Constantinople saw
“the frightful hag, the harbinger of the plague, hovering with her
bat’s wings over their drear abode, and with her hooked talons
numbering one by one her intended victims.” And now we are told that
the thieves of our Indian cities have found out a way of utilizing this
weird fancy. Some “old offenders,” in female disguise, go about the
streets of Madras exactly at twelve at night and knock at the doors of
houses inhabited by natives. “There is a strange belief among the
uneducated natives that the she-devil Dengue (the name of the
prevailing epidemic) raps at their door at that hour of the night, and
that if any inmate opens he will be struck dead by her.” The
unsuspecting natives—forgetting the hour—open, see the ominous figures,
and “many of them drop down in a fainting fit.” The visitors make the
best of the occasion.—Pall Mall Gazette.
[51] I find the following paragraph in an old newspaper, but cannot
verify its statements:—The least mortality is during the mid-day hours,
mainly from 10 to 3 o’clock. About one-third of the total deaths noted
were children under five years of age, and they show the influence of
the latter still more strikingly. At all the hours from 10 in the
morning until midnight the deaths are at or below the mean; the hours
from 10 to 11 A.M., 4 to 5 and 9 to 10 P.M., being minima, but the hour
after midnight being the lowest maximum; at all the hours from 2 to 10
A.M. the deaths are above the mean, attaining their maximum at from 5
to 6 P.M., when it is 45½ per cent. above.
[52] Dion Cassius, who wrote in the third century of our era, gives the
explanation of the nature of the Egyptian week, and of the method in
which the arrangement was derived from their system of astronomy. It is
a noteworthy point that neither the Greeks nor Romans in his time used
the week, which was a period of strictly Oriental origin. The Romans
only adopted the week in the time of Theodosius, toward the close of
the fourth century, and the Greeks divided the months into periods of
ten days [as the Chinese do also]; so that, for the origin of the
arrangement connecting the days of the week with the planets, we must
look to the source indicated by Dion Cassius. It is a curious
illustration of the way in which traditions are handed down, not only
from generation to generation, but from nation to nation, that the
Latin and Western nations, receiving the week along with the doctrines
of Christianity, should nevertheless have adopted the nomenclature in
use among astrologers.—Contemporary Review.
[53] It must not however be supposed that in the “Good old Times” our
ancestors were one whit better than the Chinese, and I quote the
following in full from “Predictions Realized” as giving a good means of
comparison between the belief of “Christian England” and “Heathen
China” in the 17th century.
In an old MS., the writer, after stating that the most learned
mathematicians have decided that the 1st of August, the 4th of
September, and the 11th of March, are most injudicious to let blood;
and that philosophers have settled that the 10th of August, 1st of
December, and 6th of April are perilous to those who surfeit themselves
in eating and drinking,—continues as follows assigning reasons why
certain days should be marked as infelicitous:—
“I will repeat unto you certain days yet be observed by some old
writers, chiefly the ancient astrologians who did allege that there
were 28 dayes in the yeare which were revealed by the Angel Gabriel to
the good Joseph, which ever have been remarked to be very fortunate
dayes either to purge, let bloud, cure wounds, use marchandises, sow
seed, plant trees, build houses, or taking journies, in long or short
voyages, in fighting or giving of battaile, or skirmishing. They also
doe alledge that children who were borne in any of these dayes could
never be poore; and all children who were put to schooles or colledges
in those dayes should become great schollars, and those who were put to
any craft or trade in such dayes should become perfect Artificers and
rich, and such as were put to trade in Marchandize should become most
wealthy, the dayes be these: the 3d and 13th of January, ye 5th and
28th of Feb., ye 3d, 22d, and 30th of March, the 5th, 22d, and 29th of
April, ye 4th and 28th of May, ye 3d and 8th of June, the 12th, 13th
and 15th of July, ye 12th of August, ye 1st, 7th, 24th and 28th of
September, the 4th and 15th of October, ye 13th and 19th of November,
ye 23d and 26th of December. And thus much concerning ye dayes which
are by ye most curious part of ye learned remarked to be good and
evill.”
In the Book of Knowledge, we find the following “Evil Days:”—
“Astronomers say that six days of the year are perilous of death; and
therefore they forbid men to let blood of them, or take any drink; that
is to say, Jan. 3, July 1, October 2, the last of April, August 4, the
last day going out of December. These six days with great diligence
ought to be kept, but namely [? mainly] the latter three, for all the
veins are then full. For then, whether man or beast be knit in them
within seven days, or certainly within fourteen days, he shall die, And
if they take any drinks within fifteen days, they shall die; and if
they eat any goose in these three days, within forty days they shall
die; and if any child be born in these three latter days, they shall
die a wicked death. Astronomers and astrologers say that in the
beginning of March, the seventh night, or the fourteenth day, let the
blood of the right arm; and in the beginning of April, the 11th day, of
the left arm; and in the end of May, 3d or 5th day, on whether arm thou
wilt; and thus, of all the year, thou shalt orderly be kept from the
fever, the falling gout, the sister gout, and loss of thy sight.”
A Book of Presidents (precedents), published in London in 1616,
contains a Calendar, many of the days in which have the letter B
affixed: “which signifieth such dayes as the Egyptians note to be
dangerous to begin or take anything in hand, as to take a journey or
any such like thing.” The days thus marked are:—
January 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, 15, 17, 19.
February 7, 10, 17, 27, 28.
March 15, 16, 28.
April 7, 10, 16, 20, 21.
May 7, 15, 20.
June 4, 10, 22.
July 15, 20.
August 1, 19, 20, 29, 30.
September 3, 4, 6, 7, 21, 22.
October 4, 16, 24.
November 5, 6, 28, 29.
December 6, 7, 9, 15, 17, 22.
[54] We often hear the warning given by old dames to young people never
to go courting on Friday; but, on the other hand, Good Friday is stated
to be the best day in the whole year to begin weaning children.
[55] One of the cardinal principles of astrology was this: That every
hour and every day is ruled by its proper planet. Now, in the ancient
Egyptian astronomy there were seven planets; two, the sun and moon,
circling round the earth, the rest circling round the sun. The period
of circulation was apparently taken as the measure of each planet’s
dignity, probably because it was judged that the distance corresponded
to the period. We know that some harmonious relations between the
distances and periods was supposed to exist. When Kepler discovered the
actual law, he conceived that he had in reality found out the mystery
of Egyptian astronomy, or, as he expressed it, that he had “stolen the
golden vases of the Egyptians.” Whether they had ideas as to the nature
of this relation or not, it is certain that they arranged the planets
in order (beginning with the plants of longest period), as follows.
1—Saturn.
2—Jupiter.
3—Mars.
4—The Sun.
5—Venus.
6—Mercury.
7—The Moon.
The hours were devoted in continuous succession to these bodies; and as
there were twenty-four hours in each Chaldean or Egyptian day, it
follows that with whatever planet the day began, the cycle of seven
planets (beginning with that one) was repeated three times, making
twenty-one hours, and then the first three planets of the cycle
completed the twenty-four hours, so that the fourth planet of the cycle
(so begun) ruled the first hour of the next day. Suppose, for instance,
the first hour of any day was ruled by the Sun—the cycle for the next
day would therefore be the Sun, Venus, Mercury, the Moon, Saturn,
Jupiter, and Mars, which, repeated three times, would give twenty-one
hours; the twenty-second, twenty-third, and twenty-fourth hours would
be ruled respectively by the Sun, Venus, and Mercury, and the first
hour of the next day would be ruled by the Moon. Proceeding in the same
way through this second day, we find that the first hour of the third
day would be ruled by Mars. The first hour of the fourth day would be
ruled by Mercury; the first hour of the fifth day by Jupiter; of the
sixth by Venus, and of the seventh by Saturn. The seven days in order,
being assigned to the planet ruling their first hour, would therefore
be—
1. The Sun’s day (Sunday.)
2. The Moon’s day (Monday, Lundi.)
3. Mars’ day (Tuesday, Mardi.)
4. Mercury’s day (Wednesday, Mercredi.)
5. Jupiter’s day (Thursday, Jeudi.)
6. Venus’ day (Friday, Veneris dies, Vendredi.)
7. Saturn’s day (Saturday, Ital. il Sabbato.)
—Contemporary Review.
[56] In some parts of England certain days are chosen for cutting a
baby’s nails; Friday is the most unlucky which can be selected.
[57] A recent article in a home Magazine on North Country folk-lore
says:—Never allow a female to enter the house first on Christmas Day:
it is an ill omen, and will cause loss and calamity to the family. Burn
all the Christmas decorations in the shape of holly and ivy by the
twelfth day, or your house will be haunted with evil spirits all the
year.
[58] This falls with us on July 15.
[59] There is a rule generally believed in, in South Germany, that if
no snow fall at Christmas there will be snow at Easter, and vice versa;
the rule being “Weisse Weihnacht grüne Ostern, grüne Weihnacht weisse
Ostern.”
[60] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II., p. 328.—The Æthiopians
regarded the dog as a portentous animal.
[61] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II., p. 328.
[62] Popular Antiquities, Vol. III., p. 188.
[63] Pop. Antiq., Vol. III. p. 170.
[64] See Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. III. p. 22; and
Treaty Ports, &c., p. 169.
[65] Confucius himself was not above his countrymen in this respect,
for in the Due Medium he remarks:—“The reason of perfect ones enables
them to foreknow things; if a nation be about to flourish there will be
happy omens, and unlucky ones if it totter to its fall. These will
appear in the divining herb sz’, in the tortoise, and in the airs and
motions of the four members. When either happiness or misery is about
to come sages will foreknow both the good and the evil. So that the
supremely sincere are equal with the gods.”—Middle Kingdom, II. 276.
See Ante, page 6. This inferentially encourages a resort to “wise men”
to learn future events, but can scarcely have been intended to pass
approval on fortune-tellers.
[66] I quote this with some slight alterations from a home magazine
article, as I could hardly improve on the description.
[67] Number three is greatly in favor for luck; school-boys insist that
the third time will be fair, or will result in success. There is an old
superstition or maxim, call it which we may, that three handfuls of
sand on a dead body are as good as a funeral.—Chambers’ Journal.—
Falstaff, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, is entrapped a third time in
the belief that “there is luck in odd numbers.”
[68] The Japanese believe that some women are liable, while sound
asleep and dreaming, to have their heads leave their body and roam
about. It is dangerous to arouse them till the head returns!
[69] The following is a résumé of the article in question:—
During sleep the thoughts wander into various channels and are not
within the control of the dreamer. There is an old Chinese book called
“Shin-rai” which contains an account of an official named “Sen mu” who
divined fortunes from dreams, therefore in ancient times dreams must
have been deemed of importance.
Dreams are divided into five classes.
First,—are dreams of Gods and Idols, Ancients, Ancestors &c., and olden
times.
Second.—Dreams of matters unthought of in waking hours; but these
dreams are usually complete, and perfectly remembered upon awaking.
This class of dreams is that from which fortunes are usually divined.
Third.—Dreams in accordance with daily thoughts and events past or
present. These are not real dreams of fancy, but merely the thoughts of
our waking hours continued in sleep.
Fourth.—Dreams of impossibilities. These originate from a wearied mind
or body and are useless for divination.
Fifth.—This class contains miscellaneous dreams, such as receiving
gifts, outwitting opponents, or being guilty of “sharp practices.”
There are various spells, charms and other means to avert the evil
influences of unlucky dreams. One of these is to write certain Chinese
characters on a piece of paper and paste it on the ceiling of a
sleeping room; Shu ya jin, the god of night, (the Morpheus of Japan) is
herein addressed.
The Tapir is said to “eat dreams.” If sketched on screens, or on the
paper wrapper of the pillows, or used as a design in the patterns of
the bed quilts, dreams will be warded off. Those who awake in a state
of fright after horrible dreams are to call out, “Tapir come eat, Tapir
come eat.”
The following are of good portent to dream of. Those mentioned in the
text are not included.
A summer scene with green Wistaria.—In the first dream of the new year
to see a hawk (or falcon) or to see egg plant (Nasubi.)—To dream of
fine weather succeeding a storm.—Placing large stones in a
garden.—Climbing cliffs.—To be buried in the earth, dead or alive.—Of
planting trees.—Digging drains.—Of land slips.—Of being in a
cave.—Trees growing from the mats of a room.—Crossing the sea.—Chewing
unboiled rice.—Having one’s hair dressed.—Praying at a Shrine.—The hair
growing white.—Seeing no bori (flags on bamboo poles.)—Sitting in an
elevated room.—One’s own body giving forth radiance.—To have side-arms
at hand (swords &c.)—Removing to a newly-built house.—Wearing a hat of
hemp mino gasa or kasa.—Women wearing a sword.—Wearing a Kamori (head
dress).—Cleaning out a well.—Of rice bags.—Of spitting out gold and
silver.—Seeing a looking-glass.—Of sweeping away cobwebs.—A ship in
full sail.—Riding in carriages.—Travelling on a wide road.—Crossing a
bridge.—Drinking milk.—Of a funeral.—Of archery (targets, bows and
arrows.)—Collecting wild flowers.—Rice raining from the skies.—Drinking
water from a valley.—Of Torii (perches at Shintô shrines.)—Of rainy
weather.—Receiving a present of a fan.—Being in prison.—Scattering
seed.—Climbing hills.—Gathering dragon flies.—Being stung by a
centipede.—Horsemanship.—Cats and rats.—Bathing.
The following are unlucky subjects to dream of:—
Frosty weather.—Black lowering clouds.—Mulberry trees broken.—Eating
persimmons.—Giving a friend a sword.—The hair falling out.—Perspiring
violently.—Catching cold, or coughing.—Eating wheat flour jelly
(ame.)—Playing on tsusumi (small drum).—Meeting a crowd of
people.—Using a walking stick.
Females who dream of swallowing the sun or moon bring forth children
who become remarkable characters in history. The mother of Nichi ren
sho nin dreamed she swallowed the sun, hence the boy’s name.—The mother
of Hideyoshi, when enceinte, had a similar dream, from which the child
was named Hideyoshi maro.
To dream of the Ni-ô-son or of folding up screens is a sign of old
age.—Dreaming of running water is an emblem of family happiness, (peace
between husband and wife.)—If the outer shutters are split, it is an
indication that the servants are faithless and will desert the
dreamer’s service.—To dream of getting wet from a sudden shower of
rain, foretells an invitation to a feast.
[70] Amongst the Japanese, in order to produce dreams of an absent
friend or lover, it is recommended to turn the sleeves of the bed-quilt
to the foot of the bed.
[71] Popular Antiquities, Vol. III. p. 268.
[72] Journal of the N. C. B. Royal Asiatic Society, 1869–70, p. 78.
[73] China Mail, Sept. 19, 1872.
[74] Journal N. C. B. R. A. S. 1853–54, pp. 34 et seq.
[75] Lancashire Folk-lore, p. 256.
[76] Chinese Repository, Vol. VII., p. 393.
[77] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II., p. 313.
[78] Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. III., p. 98.
[79] Mr. Alabaster, in his work on Siamese Buddhism, “The Wheel of the
Law,” gives the number of diagrams as 108.
[80] Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, Art. “Thor’s Hammer.”
[81] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. 2, p. 311.
[82] Not long ago a native said to me, “Would you like A to hate B?”
speaking of a bad man who had a very evil influence over a good honest
man. Without thinking, I replied, “Yes; it would be the best thing that
ever happened.” He only answered me by a gesture of the hand, which
literally means, “Leave it to me.” The next day he secured a bit of the
bad man’s hair, and sewed it into the coat of the good man. Strange
enough, as chance fell out, that day an event happened which opened the
eyes of the latter to his friend’s character, and they parted company.
Of course nothing would persuade the native that it was not the effect
of his charm.—The Inner Life of Syria, by Isabel Burton.
[83] In France, an old woman told me to take a small piece of hair
exactly at the top of my head and twist round a little slip of wood
tightly, to cure a relaxed uvula, or sore throat.—Correspondent, Notes
and Queries.
[84] The Hakkas are a separate, and it is believed older, race than the
Cantonese. They speak a different dialect.
[85] Popular Antiquities, Vol. III., p. 259.
[86] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II. p. 308.
[87] Louis Napoleon in his will emphasizes the solemn declaration:
“With regard to my son, let him keep as a talisman the seal I used to
wear attached to my watch.” This piece of fetishism would appear to
have formed yet another link between the imperial exile that has passed
from our midst, and those Latin races whose cause he affected to
represent, whose superstition he certainly shared.—Chambers’ Journal.
[88] Social Life of the Chinese, Vol. II. p. 314.
[89] correspondent of the Indian Pioneer says that, among the articles
taken as fines from the Dufflas are certain gongs supposed to be very
ancient, and which they appear to regard with the greatest reverence.
For the edification of readers curious in such matters, we may observe
that gongs, or bells, are also among the holy paraphernalia, or
fetishes, of the Neilgherry Todas. A Duffla Chief would sooner part
with half his kingdom than with his gong.
[90] Kitto’s Cyclopædia of Bib. Lit., Art. Bell.
[91] While these pages are passing through the press I come across the
following paragraph in the Paris correspondence of a leading London
Journal. The rumour it gives may be entirely untrue, but I quote it as
a specimen of ordinary newspaper gossip in 1875 on the subject under
notice:—“It is now known that the Napoleonic talisman is safe; and, so
long as that talisman remains in the Bonapartist family, the tradition
is that, however much the eagle’s wings may be clipped, the imperial
bird will soar at last. On the afternoon of September 4, 1870, as the
Empress Eugenie was flying from her apartments to the dentist’s cab
which was to take her out of Paris, she pointed to several large boxes
containing important papers, and to a small but extremely heavy metal
casket, and said to M. Thelen, one of the few faithful servants that
remained with her to the last—‘Save those papers, but above all save
that casket, and preserve it as you would your own soul.’ In that
mysterious casket, doubly and trebly locked, the Napoleonic talisman
lay. M. Thelen had the boxes and casket thus confided to him
transferred with all possible speed to the house of his sister in one
of the quietest suburbs of Paris. But the September 4 Government soon
got wind of the affair, and their emissaries were not long before
making a descent at the house of M. Thelen’s sister. They found and
carried off the papers, but the casket containing the talisman escaped
them. It had been concealed in a hole in the wall behind a small map
representing the seat of war. In due time the talisman was conveyed to
Chiselhurst, where it now is; and so long as it remains in the keeping
of the Imperial family, it will be safe to bet on the restoration of
Napoleon IV. As the curious reader would, perhaps, like to know in what
the talisman consists, I may inform him that it is a large sapphire
which Napoleon I. cribbed from the crown of Charlemagne when he took
the indecent liberty of having that monarch’s coffin opened up at
Aix-la-Chapelle.”
[92] I speak in the text of writers in the English language. But Du
Halde gives some interesting details in his well-known work. Colonel
Yule, in his Marco Polo, Vol. I., p. 290, draws attention to this fact
in a note upon the Taosse (Taoists), whom he defines as “worshippers of
the mystic cross Swasti. Apparently they had at their command the whole
encyclopædia of modern spiritualism. Du Halde mentions amongst their
sorceries the act of producing by their invocations the figures of the
Laotseu and their divinities in the air, and of making a pencil to
write answers to questions without anybody touching it.” This is
evidently a Chinese version of Mr. Daniel Home’s alleged powers, and
the coincidence is more than strange.
[93] 機筆靈靈日有精神我今取爾用事指明.
[94] 妙奪天機.
[95] (大王菩薩.)
[96] (雲遊大仙.)
[97] 成.
[98] 是也.
[99] 見笑.
[100] 蒙諸君厚禮我今要請別而去.
[101] 請去.
[102] (曉迷魂法者).
[103] (仙婆).
[104] (司命灶君).
[105] (大學).
[106] (七姊).
[107] (織女星).
[108] (昴星).
[109] (七姑星).
[110] 蠱毒.
[111] 咒.
[112] Gibbon (Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire) says: “This mode of
divination by accepting as an omen the first sacred words which in
particular circumstances should be presented to the eye or ear was
derived from the Pagans, and the Psalter or Bible was substituted for
the poems of Homer or Virgil. From the fourth to the fourteenth century
these sortes sanctorum, as they are styled, were repeatedly condemned
by the decrees of councils, and repeatedly practised by Kings, Bishops
and Saints.”
[113] 女.
[114] Pop. Antiquities, Vol. III., p. 350.
[115] Ibid., Vol. III., p. 357.
[116] 爾雅.
[117] N. & Q. C. & J., Vol. II., p. 69.
[118] Handbook of Chinese Buddhism, p. 107.
[119] Predictions Realised, p. 87.
[120] Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 166 et seq.
[121] Pop. Antiquities, Vol. III., p. 160 et seq.
[122] Alexander, if we may credit the account given by Quintus Curtius,
was terrified by blood flowing from inside his soldiers’ bread during
the siege of Tyre in 332 B.C. His seer, Aristanda, foresaw in this
crimson efflux of the vital stream out of the commissariat a happy
issue for the Macedonian; and the warriors thus never took Tyre. From
the year 1004, the alarming spectacle of the bleeding host and bread,
as well as the bewitched bloody milk, several times in each century,
gave simple folk a scare. But the victims of superstition have the bump
of casualty remarkably developed, and, in 1410, thirty-eight Jews were
burnt to ashes because they had tortured the consecrated host until it
bled.—Chambers’ Journal.
[123] The object of the ceremony is, according to the myth, to cleanse
the Jewish race in general, and the participators of the rite in
particular, from the guilt of Calvary. It does not appear that the
Chinese Jews have any legend of similar import.
[124] A correspondent of Notes and Queries writes: “Wife-beating, to
the effusion of blood, may be a novel method of securing luck in
herring-fishery, but to draw blood is practised in some of the fishing
villages on the north-east coast of Scotland, under the belief that
success follows the act. The act must be performed on New Year’s day,
and the fortune is his only who is the first to shed blood. If the
morning of the New Year is such as to allow the boats of the village to
put to sea, there is quite a struggle as to which boat will reach the
ground first, so as to gain the coveted prize, the first to shed blood
of the year. If the weather is unfavorable for fishing, those in
possession of guns—and a great many of the fishermen’s houses possess
one—are out, gun in hand, along the shore, before daybreak, in search
of some bird or wild animal, no matter how small, that they may draw
blood, and thus make sure of one year’s good fortune.”
Mr. Latouche in his Travels in Portugal (1875) narrates a story
illustrative of the national belief in the wehr wolf (lobis-homem), in
which a Portuguese “wise woman” is reported as saying that “if a lobis
homem can murder and drink the blood of a newly born child, the
enchantment ceases and she is a lobis-homem no longer.”
[126] Lady Fanshaw, visiting the head of an Irish sept in his moated
baronial grange, was made aware that banshees are not peculiar to
Scotland. Awakened at midnight by an awful, unearthly scream, she
beheld by the light of the moon a female form at the window of her
room, which was too far from the ground for any woman of mortal mold to
reach. The creature owned a pretty, pale face, and red, dishevelled
hair, and was clad in the garb of old—very old—Ireland. After
exhibiting herself some time, the interesting spectre shrieked twice
and vanished. When Lady Fanshaw told her host what she had seen he was
not at all surprised. “A near relation,” said he, “died last night in
this castle. We kept our expectation of the event from you lest it
should throw a cloud over the cheerful reception which was your due.
Now, before such an event happens in the family and castle, the female
spectre you saw always becomes visible. She is believed to be the
spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom one of my ancestors married,
and whom he afterward caused to be drowned in the moat, to expiate the
dishonor done to our race.”—All the Year Round.
[127] Chalmers.
[128] 雷峰塔 Lüi-fung Tă, “Thunder-Peak Pagoda,” or “The Story of Han-wăn
and the White Serpent,” Translated from the Chinese by H. C.,
Interpreter in Her Majesty’s Civil Service in China.
[129] Chinese Readers’ Manual, p. 6.
[130] Chinese Readers’ Manual, p. 284.
[131] The Aymara Indians believe that witches make waxen images of
those they wish to injure, and stick thorns in them. They dislike any
one having in his possession a portion of their body, hair, &c., such
ownership conferring on the possessor the power of injuring the
original owner. An Indian will pay a large sum to get back hair or
other substances, which have thus passed into other hands. See Eth.
Review, Vol. II., No. 3, p. 236.—The Chinese superstition, based on a
similar belief, is that amputated limbs, &c., should be buried or
burned.
[132] The quotations which here follow are from Mr. Gardner’s article.
I have however taken the liberty of occasionally altering the text.
[133] Che-wan-luk, Sec. xviii.
[134] “The Pʻoh of drought is doing mischief.”—The Pʻoh is the Shên of
drought. In the South there is a man of two or three feet high, naked
and having his eyes in the top of his head. He runs like wind. His name
is Pʻoh. Where he appears there is drought. Another name is “the Mother
of Drought.” It belongs to the class of elves.—Book of Poetry, Ta Ya.
When the shên of mountains and rivers caused floods or drought or
pestilence they made a special sacrifice to drive them away. This was
called Ying.—Tso-chuen.
[135] Do you remember the German story of the lad who travelled “um das
gruseln zu lernen” (to learn how to tremble)? Well, I, who never
gruselte (quaked) before, had a touch of it a few evenings ago. I was
sitting here quietly drinking tea and four or five men were present,
when a cat came to the door. I called “bis, bis,” and offered milk, but
puss, after looking at us, ran away. “Well dost thou, lady,” said a
quiet sensible man, a merchant here, “to be kind to the cat, for I dare
say he gets little enough at home; his father, poor man, cannot cook
for his children every day.” And then, in an explanatory tone to the
company, “That is Alee Nasseeree’s boy Yussuf—it must be Yussuf,
because his fellow twin Ismaeen is with his mule at Negadeh.” Mir
gruselte (I shivered), I confess; not but what I have heard things
almost as absurd from gentlemen and ladies in Europe; but an
“extravagance” in a kuftan has quite a different effect from one in a
tail-coat. “What! my butcher’s boy who brings the meat—a cat!” I
gasped. “To be sure, and he knows well where to look for a bit of good
cookery, you see. All twins go out as cats at night, if they go to
sleep hungry; and their own bodies lie at home like dead meanwhile, but
no one must touch them, or they would die. When they grow up to ten or
twelve they leave it off. Why, your own boy Achmet does it. Oh,
Achmet!” Achmet appears. “Boy, don’t you go out as a cat at night?”
“No,” said Achmet, tranquilly, “I am not a twin—my sister’s sons do.” I
inquired if people were not afraid of such cats. “No, there is no fear,
they only eat a little of the cookery; but if you beat them they will
tell their parents, next day, ‘So and so beat me in his house last
night,’ and show their bruises. No, they are not Afreets; they are beni
Adam; only twins do it, and if you give them a sort of onion broth and
camel’s milk the first thing when they are born, they don’t do it at
all.” Omar professed never to have heard it, but I am sure he had, only
he dreads being laughed at. One of the American missionaries told me
something like it, as belonging to the Copts, but it is entirely
Egyptian, and common to both religions. I asked several Copts, who
assured me it was true, and told it just the same. Is it a remnant of
the doctrine of transmigration? However, the notion fully accounts for
the horror the people feel at the idea of killing a cat.—Lady Duff
Gordon’s Last Letters.
[136] Chalmers.
[137] 談徵 (tʻan chêng.) Sec. IV.
[138] 述異記 Shuh E Ké.
[139] Chinese Readers’ Manual, p. 61.
[140] A specimen of the still pervading superstition respecting the
Fox, comes from Minatomura, in Ibaraki Ken, Japan. A man found a fox’s
hole in his garden. At the same time his wife dreamt that she had seen
a fox whom she was satisfied was none other than Inari-sama. Full of
dread, the man put this and that together, and came to the conclusion
that the hole must be the abode of Inari-sama, and he forthwith had a
small temple put up over it. He then called for the Shinto priest; and
after much ado, the matter got abroad, and crowds came to worship at
this temple. At last the Saibansho officials of the Ken heard of what
was going on, and sent for the man and his wife. The interview must
have been somewhat disappointing to them, for the judges told them such
superstitions now became criminal; and the punishment due for such
follies was 40 days’ imprisonment. As, however, in this instance, it
was clearly the result of extreme ignorance on the part of the
interesting pair, they were let off with a fine of 3 yen.
[141] Brand’s Antiquities, Vol. II., p. 499, quoted from Randolph’s
Amyntas.
[142] Mercutio’s speech, Romeo and Juliet.
[143] Brand’s Antiquities, Vol. II., p. 476.
[144] Quoted in Sir J. Bowring’s Flowery Scroll, p. 27.
[145] Ch. Reader’s Manual, p. 289.
[146] Ibid., p. 239.
[147] See Kitto’s Cyclopædia of Biblical Literature, Art. Serpents, too
long for transcription in this place, but giving a most interesting
sketch of serpent worship. Briefly summarized, it touches on the Naga
Kings of Hinduism; the astronomical fables of the serpent Ananta, or
the Milky Way, and the sun-and-moon-devouring dragons; the Scandinavian
legend of the kater serpent of the deep; the Celtic, Basque and Asiatic
legends of the dragon guardian of riches. “These fables were a residue
of that antique dragon worship which had its temples from High Asia and
Colchis to the North of Great Britain and once flourished both in
Greece and Northern Africa—structures with avenues of upright stones of
several miles in length whereof the ruins may still be traced at Carnak
in Brittany, Abury in Wiltshire and Redruth in Cornwall.”... The author
refers to the sect of Christian heretics known as Ophitæ or Ophiani,
who were professed serpent worshippers; and he gives some curious
details of the Egyptian Python worship, emblems of which have even been
discovered in British Archæology.
[148] F. Porter Smith’s Chinese Materia Medica, Art. Snakes.
[149] Lei-fung-ta,—Chinese & Japanese Repository, Feb. 1864.
[150] Henderson’s Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties, p. 255.
[151] Ibid., p. 257.
[152] N. & Q. on C. & J., Vol. III., p. 74.
[153] Note on the San Chieh Miao: Notes & Queries on China & Japan,
Vol. III., p. 76, by W. F. Mayers.
[154] Mr. Waring quotes from the “Plutus” of Aristophanes a passage
which alludes to the keeping of tame snakes in the Greek temples. The
author thinks that it “was regarded rather as a symbol of Power,
Wisdom, and Life, than as an actual deity.”
[155] Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. II., p. 130.
[156] Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. III., p. 34.
[157] 龍從雲虎從風.
[158] Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. I., p. 148.
[159] Middle Kingdom, I. p. 266.
[160] Whilst writing the above my attention has been directed to the
following interesting paragraph in the Calcutta Englishman:—“A long
discussion is being carried on in the last papers received from the
Cape as to the existence or non-existence of the unicorn. Mr. G. R.
Blanche, who has travelled extensively in Namaqualand, mentions that in
some large stone-caves on the banks of a river called Makapwe, he saw
pictures drawn by Bush-men, which included elephants, rhinoceroses,
unicorns, and gemsboks, and one old Bushman told him that he had
actually seen the animal alive, and that it was very fierce. None,
however, had been seen for some years. The Macacas stated that to the
north of their town, on the river Teoga, large numbers of unicorns are
still to be seen, and Mr. Blanche considers that in the vast region of
unexplored territory between the Zambesi and Lebaby’s country they may
still be in existence. Mr. Thomas Baines, another well-known African
traveller and naturalist, says that the existence of such an animal has
never been disproved, and that it might be found in this unexplored
country, for else where did the bush-men obtain the subject for the
pictures they have drawn?”
[161] Dr. Legge’s Chinese Classics, Vol. III., pt. I. pref., p. 108.
[162] Transactions N. C. B. R. A. S., 1853, p. 36.
[163] N. &. Q. on C. & J., Vol. III., p. 123.
[164] Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, 1st Series, p. 191. Mayers’
Chinese Readers’ Manual, pp. 95, 219, 288. Eitel’s Handbook of Chinese
Buddhism, Art. Sakchi.
[165] Chinese Readers’ Manual, p. 75.
[166] Percival’s Tamil Proverbs.
[167] Lei-chau, (thunder district) is a long mountainous peninsula in
Canton province opposite the island of Hainan, and is celebrated
throughout China for several myths respecting its thunder-storms, which
doubtless reverberate through the alpine regions of that latitude in a
manner which awakens awe and superstition. Standard Encyclopædias,
quoting from various authors on the subject, inform us, that after
thunder-storms black stones are found emitting light and a sonorous
sound on being struck. At times, also, hatchet-shaped things are picked
up which are useful amulets. The fields are often furrowed by thunder
as if they had been ploughed. In a temple consecrated to the “Thunder
Duke,” the people annually place a drum, drawn thither on a carriage
purposely constructed, which it is supposed he beats during a storm;
and it is said that since a drum covered with paper has been
substituted for one covered with leather, the peals of thunder have
been less severe. Formerly the drum was placed on the top of a
mountain, and a boy left there as an attendant on the thunderer—a sort
of sacrifice to him.—Dr. Macgowan, in Journal N. C. B. R. A. S., 1853.
[168] See Dr. Edkins’ “Taoist Mythology” in N. C. B. R. A. S. Journal
for 1859, p. 311. A North American Indian superstition is to the effect
that thunder is caused by an immense bird, whose outspread wings darken
the heavens. It is named “Then-cloots.” The lightning is caused by a
serpent-like fish of immense size, with head as sharp as a knife. When
he puts out his tongue it makes the lightning. Its name is
“Ha-hake-to-ak,” and the thunder-bird catches it for food. The bird is
in shape like an Indian, but of great proportions and strength. It
lives on the top of the mountains. An Indian once found the nest of a
thunder-bird and got one of its feathers which was over 200 feet
long!—American Magazine.
[169] Mayers’ Chinese Readers’ Manual, p. 283.
[170] “The Tidal King Temple is near Hangchow. Its shên (or god) was an
official, who in 828 A.D. undertook the restoration of a dyke, which an
Eagre of unusual violence had overthrown; and failing in the
construction of the foundation, drowned himself from chagrin. He
afterwards became a shên and three centuries later, on the occasion of
a combat between the people and rebels, who were attempting to capture
Hangchau, his name was seen inscribed on a streamer in the darkened
sky, where also unearthly noises were heard. The enemy instantly
succumbed.”
[171] See Dr. Macgowan’s article, before alluded to.
[172] Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, first series, p. 197.
[173] Indo-European Tradition and Folk-lore, p. 216.
[174] Legends of Iceland, p. 140.
[175] China Review, Vol. II., p. 226.
[176] Servian Folk-lore, p. 295.
[177] C. & J. Repository, Vol. I., p. 345.
[178] See N. & Q. on China & Japan, Vol. I., p. 140.
[179] Eitel’s Handbook of Buddhism, Art. Bodhidharma.
[180] Translated by G. Phillips, Esq., of H.B.M. Consular Service in
China.
[181] Indo-European Traditions & Folk-lore, p. 158.
[182] Mr. T. Sampson in N. & Q. on China & Japan, Vol. III. p. 147.
[183] See Wylie’s Notes on Chinese Literature, p. 166.
[184] China Review, Vol. III., No. 3, p. 129.
[185] Dr. Williams renders Tʻien, “Providence Nature, Heaven, the
overruling power; and though without definite personality, employed
more than any other term to indicate God.”