Chapter XIII: Fables and Proverbial Lore (7)

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.’