_SUPERSTITIONS._
_Fung shui._--Devastating Eggs.--Demon
Possession.--Sacred Trees.--Heavenly Silk.--Ladder of
Swords.--Preserving only Children.--God of Literature on
Ghosts.--God of War.--Reverence for Ancestors.
Directly that, leaving behind steamers, railways, _and_ Sundays, you
step ashore at Ichang, a thousand miles up the river Yangtse, you find
yourself in the land of superstition. Right opposite to Ichang, facing
it from across the river, stands a pyramidal mountain six hundred feet
high, in all its proportions resembling the Pyramid of Cheops. The
people of Ichang say it menaces them, and, according to their belief
in _Fung shui_, or climatic influences (literally, wind and water),
prevents their young men from passing their examinations, and makes
all their wealth pass into the pockets of strangers. Just before I
first arrived there in 1887, they had all taxed themselves, and built
a many-storied temple on the top of the very highest hill behind the
city, in order to keep the baleful pyramid in check; and the subject
of conversation amongst the peasants at that period, when not
discussing the price of something or their last bargain, was always
whether that temple had been built on quite the right spot. "I always
said it ought to be on that other knoll, and turned a little more
aslant," one would say. However, though they have not yet grown rich,
probably to be accounted for by some error of the kind, two of their
young men the very next year after the building of this temple took
their second degree--an event which had not gladdened the
neighbourhood for hundreds of years.
[Illustration: ICHANG FROM THE CITY WALL, HALL OF LITERATURE, AND
PYRAMID HILL.
_By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
It is very easy for us to laugh at _Fung shui_; but it often strikes
me that far more foolish than the Chinese belief is the absolute
disregard of climatic influences shown in England. When the huge block
of Queen Anne Mansions was building, I recollect applying for south
rooms; and noticing the late Mr. Hankey's expression as he jotted down
a memorandum, I asked him what he had been writing. "Oh, only about
five or six people have applied for south rooms," he said. "So I put
you down as one of the eccentric lot. You'll find them hot, you know,
in the season." I ventured to remark that the sun went northwards in
summer; but Mr. Hankey was incredulous. Applying to a house agent in
London for a small house with a south aspect, he said he really could
not tell me of any off-hand, as he had never been asked for such a
thing before, and had no notion how the houses on his list faced. But,
stranger than this, when house-hunting with friends in the lovely
Caterham district some years ago, we found that whenever we drove up
to a house in high hopes, seeing it was situated on such an eminence
as to command a really lovely view, we invariably found the house
turned its back on the view, which often could not be seen from any of
the windows. Although the Chinese in the course of centuries have made
_Fung shui_ into a superstition, surely their consideration of
aspects, soils, water, etc., is wiser than our disregard of all such
potent influences of nature? It is, however, always easier to laugh
than to learn; and I see that I noted at the time:
"The other day, such a tumult here! It turned out that some of the
neighbours disapproved of the gable-end just added to the servants'
quarters of our new house. A number of old women insisted on dragging
my husband into their houses to see. 'Look!' they said, 'your new
gable points! and points straight at our shrine. It will ruin us.'
Greatly amused, he straightway said, 'It shall be curled in another
direction as soon as possible.' The old women were at once propitiated
and delighted. But so far it has not yet been curled, and they seem to
have forgotten all about it."
In other countries besides China an assurance that a thing is to be
done quite satisfies people.
_Fung shui_ was the great obstacle to the erection of telegraph-posts,
and is a difficulty in the making of railroads; but it seems to be
easily overcome by an official assurance that the interference with it
is of no consequence. The carefully chosen sites for houses show,
however, how deep-rooted it is in the national life, the most
unfortunate fact about it being that in their solicitude for the dead
the Chinese generally assign the very best spots to graves, which must
never be meddled with except at a change of dynasty; and,
unfortunately, when the Manchu Dynasty came in, they omitted to level
the graves. It would be almost worth while to have another change of
dynasty, if only for the purpose of restoring to the use of the living
much of the best ground in China.
A stranger Chinese belief is that when the phœnix and dragon of
fable come together an egg is laid which leads to the devastation of
the country. Such an egg was said to have been hatched at Matung, a
little way below Chungking on the river. Certainly, the city
magistrate went down to inspect the spot. It is the duty of all the
officials to destroy these eggs all over China, their whereabouts
being discoverable by the snow refusing to lie over them. But as we
have mostly no snow in Chungking, perhaps that was held as an excuse
for the officials; for we did not hear of any being beheaded or
otherwise punished for letting the egg be hatched. The magistrate,
indeed, refused to be drawn on the subject and say what he actually
saw. "All nonsense, all nonsense!" he said. One curious part of it was
that we never should have heard of his visit and its object but for
noting the extraordinarily heavy rain that seemed to pour and pour
over Matung. We were many of us dwellers on the hill-tops that
summer--though not at all after Mr. Grant Allen's fashion, I fancy;
and one of our daily entertainments was to watch the thunderstorms
marching along the lower country, investing first one mountain, then
another, dividing here, converging there. And one could not but notice
how the most awful thunderstorms passed by all obstacles to
concentrate themselves on Matung. Commenting upon this as we sat in
the starlight in the evening watching our other entertainment, the
play of the lightning, we remarked it might be worth while to go to
Matung to see what had happened there, and then were told of the
magistrate's visit to inspect the egg that had been hatched, and that
before all these great storms, which we had looked down upon at
intervals, in a small way being at times ourselves partakers. There
evidently must therefore have been some striking indication of coming
calamity to call for an official visit; and judging by what we saw
ourselves, that indication had been realised. "It is the people's own
fault, if they build their houses in a river-bed. Of course they are
washed away," said the magistrate. But how many were washed away we
never knew. One often regrets the absence of a newspaper in the
interior of China. Twice in one week we saw in the distance great
fires--saw the flames rise up, towering like a bonfire, spread, then
after some time die out, a blackness settling down on what one
imagines were once happy homesteads. In England, next morning we
should be reading all the particulars; next day would follow the
subscription list, after we had already sent our cast-off clothes,
etc., to the sufferers. Thus would our sympathies be called forth at
the same time that our interests were aroused. In China--nothing! No
more is heard of the conflagration we even ourselves witness, of the
inundation to which we also--at least, our hill-tops did their
part--may be said to have contributed. Is it not partly this that
makes life in China so dull? Is it possibly this also which leaves
denizens in China looking so much younger than their years, their
faces unmarked by the traces of emotion experienced, whether
pleasurable or the reverse?
[Illustration: MONASTERY.
_By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
Materialistic though our worthy _compradores_ (business managers) and
invaluable boys (butlers) appear to us, with their expressionless
faces and highly coloured explanations of popular beliefs in racy
pigeon English, yet in reality no people believe themselves more
surrounded by spirits than do the Chinese. Unfortunately, their
spirits are generally evil spirits, requiring cunning handling to
frustrate their designs--as when at New Year's time you stick on your
door a red paper announcing that some sage of old or other celebrity
lives in this house. In all countries the general belief seems to have
been that the devils are very easily outwitted. But it is noteworthy
how this belief in evil spirits gains upon the foreigners in their
midst. Dr. Nevius, one of the most high-minded and noblest
missionaries I have come across, a delightful man of apparently most
healthy mind in a healthy body, wrote a deeply interesting volume on
_Demon Possession_, giving instances to prove that this still exists
in all its old Biblical terrors in China. I have known another
missionary who is under the belief that by heartfelt prayer he himself
was instrumental in driving out a demon; also others, of good social
position and first-class English education, who felt their own powers
for good almost paralysed whilst in the west of China by the presence
of active evil spirits. Nor have I been able to divest myself in
certain temples of the belief that the air was full of them, though I
spent a long, long summer's day there once, alone, trying either to
dispel the idea or to determine that it was so. Matters like these, if
we believe, we none of us like to speak about. Certainly, it is during
residence in China--supposed generally to have such a materialising
effect--that I have become so convinced of spiritual agencies as to
believe this faith unshakable. Happily for me the spirits, of whose
presence and help I cannot doubt, have been uniformly good. And
believing in their care, it has been impossible for me to be afraid in
many circumstances with regard to which people often ask, "Were you
not frightened?" Yet I have been frightened, very much frightened
too, at other times. Probably, to many this confession will seem to
rob my account of all trustworthiness. But all through this volume I
try to write down what I have seen or think of things, always without
asserting the correctness of my views. Some day we shall know;
meanwhile, "It seems so to me" appears to be the truest phrase with
reference to things Chinese.
To pass to lighter beliefs. In the west of China, at the foot of every
fine old hoangko-tree, _Ficus infectoria_, a kind of banyan, is a
little stone shrine, showing how at one time reverence was entertained
for the spirit of this very beautiful shade-tree, growing on the top
of so many hills in the windless province of Szechuan, always alone,
and often giving enough shade to shelter the whole village near it
under its branches in summer evenings; whilst in the autumn in the
east of China, when the air is full of floating masses of gossamer,
the Chinese say it is the "thread of _niang-niang_," or "heavenly
silk." By the wayside, everywhere throughout China, the traveller
comes upon pretty little shrines with one or two incense-sticks giving
out a sweet fragrance; and if ever the whole land is converted to a
higher, purer faith, I cannot but hope that these graceful little
shrines may not be done away with, but consecrated anew with a figure
of the Virgin Mother and Infant Saviour, or a crucifix, or a figure of
some high and holy man of old, an ensample to us of these latter days,
that so, like as in the neighbourhood of Méran, the peasant may feel
called to offer upon it his beautiful white gardenia flowers, or a
bunch of pink azaleas from the mountain-side, or a blossom of the
gorgeous red dragon-claw flower, or even a white tea blossom or wild
camellia, and, so doing, pray to Him above all, Whom they, as we,
believe even now to see all they do, and Who, whatever our belief
about Him, must for ever remain the same.
But I am wandering again and again into the sacred groves of religion,
and must return into the devious paths of superstition. When a
cargo-boat of my husband's once became a complete wreck, he could not
help, even under the depressing influence of the news, being amused to
hear his Chinese manager saying: "They would do it. They would do it.
I told them not to. We must never again carry a cargo of dried
shrimps. Of course, their spirits spoke to the spirits of their
brother-fishes in the river, and they raised the waves that they might
jump up and release their imprisoned relations. Well, there's a good
deed done: a lot of lives set free. But we must not take shrimps
again. You see, it is a dead loss. And I said so from the first."
[Illustration: THE 564 IMAGES OF HANGCHOW.]
According to a Chinese paper, the inhabitants of Chaochow Fu, of which
Swatow is the seaport, are very superstitious. When one of them is
seriously ill, instead of getting a doctor to attend him, he invites a
certain set of priests to perform jugglers' feats and recite
mysterious incantations. Thereby, it is believed, a cure can be
effected. Ascending a ladder of swords is considered a very effectual
mode of treatment. Two thirty-feet poles are made to stand in an
upright position, fixed firmly in the ground parallel to each other.
One hundred and twenty sharp swords, with their keen edges upward, are
tied to the two poles like the rungs of a ladder. Some days before the
ceremonies are to be performed notices are freely distributed, and on
the given day thousands gather for the sight. A young priest, dressed
in a fantastic costume, advances to the foot of the ladder, chanting
incantations, and making passes with a knife which he holds in his
hand. Suddenly he steps on the sharp edges of the swords forming the
rungs of the ladder, and climbs rapidly. As the young priest has bare
feet, it is a wonder that he can step without being injured on the
edges of the swords. When he reaches the highest point, he
deliberately sits on a sword, and throws down a rope. The sick man's
clothing is tied to this, and is drawn up to the top. The young priest
then shakes the clothing to the winds, burns magical scrolls, and
recites incantations. He cries aloud the name of the patient, who is
called in such ceremonies, "Redeem the soul." After these
performances, the clothing is let down, and the patient puts it on.
Taking a piece of red cloth from his pocket, the young priest waves it
over his head like a flag, at the same time dancing and leaping from
one pole to another. He places several sheets of paper money on the
edges of the swords, steps on them, and the sheets fly in all
directions, cut in the centre. He thus shows that the weapons are
sharp, and that his position is by no means an enviable one.
Exhausting himself at last, he descends with all the agility at his
command. "Sometimes under such treatment the patient manages to
recover," adds the Chinese paper naïvely enough.
In 1890 such a curious account was given in the _North China Daily
News_ of an incident that had just occurred in Western Shantung, the
province the Germans are now trying to make their own, that, as I know
nothing further of it, I think it is better to extract it from the
paper:
"A certain man had a daughter, who was an only child, and for whose
life the parents entertained the greatest fears. A boy, to be sure,
would have been much more precious; but, as the saying runs, 'When
cinnabar is not to be had, even red earth is valuable.' Having a
neighbour named Chang who had many daughters, it occurred to the
parents of the solitary child that it would be a good plan to have her
'adopted' into the family of the man with several daughters as one of
them. This 'adoption,' it must be understood, is a pure fiction, and
consists in nothing more than in calling the adopted child by the
_surname_ of the family into which she is adopted. Thus, in this case,
the parents' surname being Liu, the girl, who was a mere infant, was
called 'Chang Four,' as a milk-name, denoting that she was technically
number four in the Chang family series of girls. The evil fates,
perceiving that the Chang family had such a supply of daughters, would
let her grow up in peace, and thus the Liu family would contrive to
outwit the malignant spirits! The Liu girl never went to the Chang
family to live, and had no relations with them of any kind, except
that the family exchanged presents and calls on feast days, as if the
conditions were those of a betrothal. In fact, the Chang family would
be styled by the Liu family as their 'adopted relatives by marriage.'
Devices of this kind, to cheat the fates in regard to boys, are very
common, the lads being called '_ya-tʽao_,' for girl, or sometimes
'_lao-pʽo_,' to indicate that they are old married women. But these
cunning schemes cannot, however, always be regarded as complete
successes; for in this case the only daughter died, and so the 'dry
relationship' came to an end."
Around the god of literature all kinds of legends have crystallised.
He is said to have lived through seventeen lives. He is also said in
his own person to have completed the perfection of the three religions
of China. He did all manner of marvellous things, besides driving away
a tiger that threatened a messenger, under promise from the latter to
distribute five thousand copies of the tract on rewards and
punishments. Perhaps the Psychical Society might learn something from
his chapter on ghosts:
"A ghost is the corrupt part of man, and man is the pure part of a
ghost.
"A man can be a ghost, and a ghost can be a man. The man and the ghost
are mutually related. Why separate man and ghost?
"The ghost becomes a man, then man must become a ghost.
"If a man does not become a ghost, he will surely be able to perfect
manhood.
"It is difficult for a ghost to become a man, because it has fallen to
ghosthood, and because it has lost manhood.
"A man is a ghost; a ghost is a man: but all men are not ghosts,
neither is every ghost a man.
"Those who can be respectful without feeling ashamed, who can be
submissive without deception, who can obey to perfection the rule of
life, and are able to preserve their natural force unabated,
secretly cherishing growth, will become Buddhas or Genii, and not
ghosts."
[Illustration: PAVILION OF THE MOON IN GROUNDS OF GOD OF WAR'S TEMPLE.
_By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
Probably a great deal is lost in this translation; but the phrase to
be "submissive without deception" is certainly noteworthy.
The god of war has not passed through so many vicissitudes; but it
seems that in his lifetime he was a merchant noted for probity and
liberality, and it is in this character that his picture is to be
found in all self-respecting business firms to this day as an example
of what a merchant should be. Then as the centuries passed by, he was
canonised as the god or guardian saint of war, and his last change was
being made the tutelary deity of the present dynasty. It is a great
question, however, whether the Chinese can properly be said to have
either gods or idols, or whether it would not be more correct to say
they make and set up images of men canonised as guardian saints, and
whose spirits are supposed to be present where proper reverence is
shown to their images. According to Dr. Edkins, at the feasts in
honour of the dead, whether simply ancestors or famous men of old, the
dead man is now represented by a tablet; but by ancient rules a living
representative was required, and preferably a grandson. In the time of
the Hia Dynasty he stood. Under the Shang Dynasty--from 1800 to 1200
B.C.--he sat. Under the Chow Dynasty there would be six
representatives of the deceased ancestors, who were all treated as
guests, and partook of the feast. They had the strange idea that only
thus could the patriarch of the clan be kept from extinction; for
they thought of the soul as breath, liable to be dispersed as air.
They called such a representative of the dead "the corpse," or, more
correctly, "the image of the soul." It is hard to say whether such a
practice is more material or spiritual.
Mencius describes images as at first made of grass and rushes, and
then of wood, "to be buried with the dead in order to provide the
deceased with servants to wait upon him in the other world." But not
in his writings, nor in any of the classics, are there any indications
of worshipping images or idolatry. Probably these images were a
survival of human sacrifices in more ancient times. Paper
representations of houses, servants, horses, money, are now burnt at
stated festivals, in order to supply the dead with all they need. And
for about a month before the appointed day, all through China, the
eldest grandson of each family may be seen busy making out lists of
all the ancestors entitled to such gifts, and writing letters to be
burnt with them. Then on the appointed day the feast is spread,
chopsticks are placed, wine-cups are filled, all for the dead dear
ones. Thus are the superstitions or religious observances of the
Chinese knit with their every-day life; for the living in the end eat
the feast, though the wine is commonly poured out upon the ground as a
libation. Then comes the great day when all the family goes out as a
great picnic party to the family graves. The best clothes are put on,
and a long day is spent in the country in junketing and gossip. All
the environs of a Chinese city--for the environs are always the
graveyards--are alive with gaily dressed parties of people, till the
appearance presented is that of a great fair; for naturally booths are
erected for the sale of eatables and drinkables as well as of
offerings all along by the wayside. The temples are crowded; the
priests receive offerings. Every one goes home at night with much the
same expression as English people after a Bank Holiday. On the whole,
the Chinese festival appears the holier and more fraught with
sentiment of the two. Naturally, this festival is the culminating-point
of ancestral worship. But it does not seem difficult to see how
reverence for ancestors might be made altogether Christian, the
natural outcome of the fourth commandment; nor how these feasts for
the dead might be made very much the same as the Jour des Morts in
Paris, or, indeed, something higher and yet more Christian. They are
inextricably knit with the belief that the dead father's spirit floats
round and watches over his children after death; and thus is the
principle of _noblesse oblige_, or respect for ancestors, carried into
every, even the poorest, household of China.