_THE FÊTE OF THE MOON_
This fête is celebrated in the eighth month of the year. It lasts six
days, beginning on the 10th and ending on the 15th, with the full moon.
It is thought that on that night the moon is larger than at any other
time in the year.
This fête is made the occasion of all kinds of amusements, and specially
it is kept by sending to one’s friends all sorts of presents in the shape
of the moon, as also by the exhibition of nick-nacks.
One buys a quantity of little statues, representing genii, immortals,
Buddhas. All these celestials are arranged on the landings amongst the
objects collected by the family, treasures which, imprisoned all the
year round, are only produced on this solemn occasion. The centre of the
exhibition is always filled by a large pagoda, which is illuminated, like
the house itself, at every window.
Outside, fireworks are let off and crackers exploded. Indoors, music
is played to cheer the reunion of friends and of the family. Mutual
invitations are issued to come and admire the richness and the good taste
of the different collections.
At midnight, on the 15th, everybody sits down in the courtyard to a great
banquet, with which the fête is terminated. This banquet is specially
given to await the descent of the goddess of the moon. The myth will have
it, that on that day she leaves her celestial abode to come down and
listen to the wishes of the mortals. Needless to say, that nobody ever
yet saw the graceful inhabitant of our satellite; but it is difficult to
drive out of the people’s minds traditions which have been handed down
for centuries from father to son.
A story is, however, told of an old woman who was favoured one night with
a visit from the Chinese Diana, who asked her what she wanted, and who
promised to grant all that she could wish for. Dazzled by the splendour
of the costume and the imposing beauty of the lady, the old woman stood
speechless, and could not say a word. At last, encouraged by the kindly
insistence of the queen of the moon, the old woman summoned up enough
courage to carry her hand to her mouth, meaning thereby that she only
wished to have enough to eat for the rest of her life.
The apparition made a sign of acquiescence, and remounted to heaven. The
next morning the old woman was seen wearing a gigantic, full beard. The
goddess had not understood her gesture.
The moon is the patroness of poetry. Autumn, moreover, the most beautiful
of seasons, with its wealth of chrysanthemums and oleas of sweet
perfume in flower, furnishes also subjects dear to the poets. This fête
is accordingly more aristocratic and more literary than the others,
which have little to offer but popular pleasures. Thus, to celebrate it,
pretence is made of transforming the terrestrial abodes into so many
crystal palaces to harmonise with the splendours which are believed to
exist in the celestial regions.
I have said that the moon is the patroness of poetry. It is she, indeed,
who, from the earliest ages, has at all times known how to inspire
poets—now with sad, now with joyous songs. It is she who unites in common
contemplation the looks and the thoughts of lovers separated by long
distances from each other; it is she who consoles the unhappy despairing
in their solitudes. The most intimate secrets of the heart are confided
to her, the softest and sweetest wishes are formed before her transparent
mirror. Who shall then be astonished if poetry cherish this kindly queen
of the night?
Here are some verses dedicated to this star by our poets:
“Raising my glass to drink with the moon,
I notice that we are three—
The moon, my shadow, and myself.
The moonlight comes right up to my bed,
Covering the floor with a dazzling surface,
Which at first sight I take for ice;
Then, noticing that it is the moon,
I fall to thinking of my native land.”
The number of legends attaching to the moon is so large that it is
impossible to relate them all. Some say that the goddess who inhabits the
lunar palace is still unwedded. Others maintain that she is a tearful
widow. The most original of these legends tells us that the goddess is
the wife of a celebrated archer, of the reign of Han, named Haou-I. He
had already shot down nine suns with his terrible bow, and was just going
to fire at the tenth—the only one that remains to us—when the sun-god
said to him, “Give me grace of this one, which I need for the light of
the world. In return I will give you a magic draught which will give you
the power to go and to dwell in the sun itself.” At the same time he told
the archer the day and the hour on which he was to take the enchanted
potion.
Haou-I committed the imprudence of confiding his secret to his wife,
who, not willing to believe the truth of what he said, tried the draught
forthwith. Immediately she grew light as a bird and flew away to the moon.
Is this not like reading Jules Verne, perfected, in the second century,
for it is from that century that this legend dates.
Here is another myth, the translation of the poem of which I have
given elsewhere. I consider it very graceful. It tells that Emperor
Ming-Houang, of the Thang dynasty, had travelled in a dream to the moon.
It was there that he learned a melody entitled “Dress of Rainbow and of
Feathers.” This air was the cause of an insurrection, which nearly upset
his throne. One of his officers, in love with a favourite who sang this
celestial melody in perfection, revolted, and the Emperor could only
preserve his throne by sacrificing the life of his favourite. So true it
is that always and in all things one must seek the woman, even in the
moon.
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