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 [103]succession familiar indeed to the sons of Han.1 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,2 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 [104]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.”3

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.

The well-known Linton worm or dragon5 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 [105]the Fuhkien seaboard, in which the poisonous character of a serpent’s breath is an important element.6 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.7 “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.”8 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 [106]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.9 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 [107]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,

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,10 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:—

[108]

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.”11 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 [109]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 [110]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:12 “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 [111]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

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 [112]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,”13 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.14 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,15 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.” [113]

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.16 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, [114]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 [115]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.