_THE FEAST OF THE TWO STARS_
The two stars, called Niou-Lang, the Shepherd, and Tsi-Nu, the Weaver,
are situated, the first on the eastern shore of the Milky Way—the
Tien-Ho, as we call it, or River of Heaven—and the other on the western
shore. According to ancient astronomical observations they only meet once
a year, and this meeting is supposed to take place in the night of the
seventh day of the seventh moon.
Legend pretends that the Shepherd was married to the Weaving Woman, and
that to punish them for some fault committed in the celestial regions—a
fault analogous to that of Adam and Eve—the sovereign of the skies
separated them eternally. Once only in the year did he allow them to
see each other for an instant by crossing the stream of water which,
during the rest of the year, put an insurmountable barrier between their
loves. On that day the magpies, carrying straw in their beaks, go and
build a bridge over the river, which enables the lovers to cross over
dry-footed. I will add that on that day the magpies moult. A quantity of
other legends naturally have been grafted on to this one. Thus it is said
that the rain which falls on the eve of this feast cleans the chariot of
heaven; whilst if it rains on the day itself, it is said that that is the
tears of joy of the two lovers; if on the morrow, it is their tears of
sorrow at their fresh separation. The feasts celebrated on this occasion
vary slightly according to the locality. The object of some of the
celebrations is to beg of the Weaving Woman for skill at the loom; others
take advantage of the fact that on the day of their reunion the two stars
are more friendly disposed, and implore their pity.
A table is usually spread on these occasions on the balcony of the
pavilion, and laid with fruits, flowers, wine, candles, and incense. Low
prayers are whispered. Those who pray are young women whose husbands
are absent. Those who wish to become skilful workwomen close a spider
up in a box. When they open the box on the morrow they can tell from
the appearance of the web, which the spider has spun in the meanwhile,
whether the Weaving Woman has heard their prayers or not. If the web is
neat and regular they may hope for skill also.
Formerly, under the reign of the Thangs, this anniversary was celebrated
with considerable splendour in the palace of the Emperor. It is said that
towers about 1000 feet in height—about that of the Eiffel Tower—were
constructed of silk for the occasion, and that on these towers the
favourites of the Emperor made music and song in honour of celestial
loves. Girls vied with one another who should soonest thread, by
the light of the moon, needles with nine eyelets, and the winner was
proclaimed the most skilful of all.
A poem says:
“It is easier to thread needles by moonlight than to hold a thread
straight while the wind is blowing.”
There has been very much poetry written about this feast. Some of the
poems are in praise of the skill of the Weaving Woman; others lament
her too ephemeral happiness; but the most numerous are those in which
the luckless in love envy the lot of the lovers untied in heaven, and
pray them to favour them, so that they also may have a time of meeting,
however short. The most celebrated of these poems is one written by a
sceptical philosopher, who says:
“They are immortals, and yet they fear the water.
I am inclined to doubt that they are very skilful people.”
In short, this feast is liked chiefly as a pleasant holiday, and as
affording a theme for the poets.
In the seventh moon the great heats have passed away, and advantage is
taken of the soft zephyr and the purity of the sky, which is generally
to be noticed at this season of the year, to sit out on the balcony of
the house, and to enjoy the cool air whilst drinking rice-wine. The
hypothesis of these two invisible beings inhabiting the two stars is
rather a pretext than a belief, I am inclined to think. Long separations,
always so sad, and the meeting again, which is all the more delightful
because it is so unfrequent, are symbolised in this legend. The two
stars meeting across the Milky Way in a clear sky, under the burning and
envious gaze of the other stars, and the light of the crescent-moon,
form a graceful picture, which, by a pretty celestial dream, charms our
spirit, greedy as it always is of the ideal, and glad to escape for a
while from the truer but often more disappointing images of worldly
realities.
[Illustration]