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 [116]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:—

“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 [117]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,1 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 [118]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.2 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 [119]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.3 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 Madras4 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.” [120]

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 [121]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.5 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.6 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.’

“A hundred years ago the Chinese Imperial revenue was in much better case than it is now. At that time they had not yet come into collision with Western powers, and the word ‘indemnity’ had not, so far, found a place in their vocabulary; internal rebellions were checked as soon as they broke out, and, in one word, Kien Lung was in less embarrassed circumstances than Kwang Hsu; he had more money to spend, and did lay out a good deal in the [122]way of palaces. His favourite building, and one on which no expense had been spared, was the ‘Hall of Contemplation.’ This Hall was of very large dimensions; the rafters and the pillars which supported the roof were of a size such as no trees in China furnish now-a-days. They were not improbably originally sent as an offering by the tributary monarch of some tropical country, such as Burmah or Siam. Two men could barely join hands round the pillars; they were cased in lustrous jet black lacquer, which, while adding to the beauty of their appearance, was also supposed to make them less liable to combustion. Indeed, every care was taken that no fire should approach the building; no lighted lamp was allowed in the precincts, and to have smoked a pipe inside those walls would have been punished with death. The floor of the Hall was of different-coloured marbles, in a mosaic of flowers and mystic Chinese characters, always kept polished like a mirror. The sides of the room were lined with rare books and precious manuscripts. It was in short the finest palace in the Imperial city, and it was the pride of Kien Lung.

“Alas for the vanity of human wishes! In spite of every precaution, one night a fire broke out and the Hall of Contemplation was in danger. The Chinese of a century ago were not without fire-engines; and though miserably inefficient as compared with those of our London fire brigades, they were better than nothing, and a hundred of them were soon working round the burning building. The Emperor himself came out to superintend their efforts and encourage them to renewed exertions. But the wall was doomed; a more than earthly power was directing the flames, and mortal efforts were of no avail. For on one of the burning rafters Kien Lung saw the figure of a little old man, with a long white beard, standing in a triumphant attitude. ‘It is the God of Fire,’ said the Emperor, ‘we can do nothing:’ so the building was allowed to blaze in peace. Next day Kien Lung appointed a Commission to go the round of the Peking temples in order to discover in which of them there was a Fire god with a white beard, that he might worship him and appease the offended deity. The search was fruitless; all the Fire-gods had red beards. But the Commission had done its work badly; being highly respectable mandarins of genteel families, they had confined their search to such temples as were in good repair and of creditable exterior. Outside the North gate of the Imperial City was one old, dilapidated, disreputable shrine which they had overlooked. It had been crumbling away for years, and even the dread figure of the God of Fire, which sat above the altar, had not escaped desecration. ‘Time had thinned his flowing locks,’ and the beard had fallen away altogether. One day some water-carriers who frequented the locality thought, either in charity or by way of a joke, that the face would look the better for a new beard. So they unravelled some cord, and with the frayed-out hemp adorned the beardless chin. An official passing the temple one day, peeped in out of curiosity, and saw the hempen beard. ‘Just the thing the Emperor was enquiring about,’ said he to himself, and he took the news to the palace without delay. Next day there was a state visit to the dilapidated temple, and Kien Lung made obeisance and vowed a vow. [123]

“ ‘O Fire God,’ said he, ‘thou hast been wroth with me in that I have built me palaces and left thy shrine unhonoured and in ruins. Here do I vow to build thee a temple surpassed by none other of the Fire-gods in Peking; but I shall expect thee in future not to meddle with my palaces.’

“The Emperor was as good as his word. The new temple is on the site of the old one and the Fire god has a flowing beard of fine white hair.”

Some odd superstitions connected with the spread of fire come under my notice at this moment. The Chinese are cautious of provoking the “God of Fire” or “Fire Principle” either by ill-timed allusions to his powers or by other acts, and the Tientsin correspondent of a Shanghai journal refers to this fact in noting that, in view of an existing drought, and the closing of the South gate of the former City as a stimulus to rain, the Fire Principle might revenge itself by an outbreak. On the 19th of May last the correspondent writes:—“Almost as soon as this ill-timed suggestion had an opportunity to get itself considered, the Fire Principle proceeded to act upon it; the consequence is that a large quantity of combustible material, and several rather incombustible mud houses, now ‘slumber in the valley.’ The houses at the foreign settlement a mile and-a-half distant were illuminated by the lurid light, before which even the full moon paled its ineffectual fires. The inevitable ‘fire pigeon,’ whose indeterminate circles and final flight are watched with close and most superstitious awe, did not fail to appear, and having indicated by his course that the fire would spread across the wall into the city, caused the most intense excitement there. Fortunately the wind was comparatively light, and the damage done, considering the terror inspired, was trifling. The next day in a violent gale another conflagration broke out at the south-west corner of the city, destroyed the grass intended for horses and donkeys, but no houses.” The “fire pigeon” here alluded to is nothing supernatural. Most cities in North China are frequented by large flocks of pigeons, and the light of a conflagration generally attracts a number who wheel in circles round the burning house. The bird nearest the flames is looked upon as affording an augury of their spread—not always, as is above evidenced, of the most reliable description.

Mountains in China as in Europe have their demons or presiding divinities. The God of Tʻai-shan in Shantung Tung-yoh-ta-ti regulates the punishments inflicted on sinners in both this world and the next. Four other divinities rule over the principal chains in other portions of the Empire.

The formation of islands by natural causes in the vast streams which water the empire is of course the basis of numerous legends. A gentleman who explored the West River near Canton, some ten years since, gave the following instance, showing how easily a popular belief springs into being. “Pau Man-ching, who was Departmental Magistrate (some eight hundred and twenty-five years ago) of what was then known as Tün Chau now Shiu Hing Fù, is said to have been a man of remarkable administrative powers and possessing the most sterling integrity. He filled his term of office in such an acceptable manner, that on its expiration he was immediately transferred to a position of honor and trust in the capital. Illustrative of his great virtue it is recorded, [124]that when he arrived at Shiu Hing, the Department City, he found the officers were in the habit of practising gross abuses of power, and set himself immediately to the work of reformation. Particularly were they accustomed to require the people to furnish ten-fold more than the lawful tribute from the ink-stone quarries, which are regarded as the best in the Empire. The surplus thus acquired was secretly distributed among the high officers at the Court, in order to secure special favor. He at once put a stop to the practice, and would allow no more tribute to be levied than was actually sent up to the Emperor. In this one respect he was so strict that he did not carry away a single stone for himself when he left. Now tradition amplifies the idea and says, that of the many testimonials of gratitude and respect offered him by the people on his departure, he only accepted an inkstone, lest there should seem to be even the shadow of bribery or corruption chargeable against him. When he arrived at the above-mentioned point in the river on his voyage down, a violent storm arose, which threatened to overwhelm the boat. The inkstone became a burden to his conscience, and Jonah-like was hove into the stream; whereupon the storm immediately ceased and an island rose up, known to this day as ‘Inkstone island.’ Another form of the legend is, that in the midst of the storm he fell into a passion, upbraided the Gods of the country for thus rewarding a man who had endeavoured to do his duty, and then cast away the stone, the act being followed by the above result. If either of these were true, it surely might be said that this was one of the most productive inkstones in China.” It should be added that the better-read literati of the neighbourhood simply refer the name to the fact of the inkstone being cast overboard opposite the island, but the more miraculous version is firmly accepted by the unlettered peasants. I need scarcely refer to well-known European legends to find parallels to the above.

The belief that violent winds or typhoons are caused by the passage through the air of a “Bob-tailed Dragon” has been before adverted to, and the superstitions connected with water, whether in the shape of rain, sea, or river, are equally quaint. The rain god Yü-Shih 雨師 or “Master of rain” is a divinity identified by the ancient cosmogonists with a son of Kung Kung bearing the name 玄冥 (Hsuan-ming). He is identified with the constellation 畢 (Hyades) and is held as personifying the aqueous influences of the atmosphere.7 One of his effigies occupies an honoured position in a temple some ten miles from Peking, and about a hundred and fifty years ago fell under the displeasure of the then Emperor for his persistent neglect to send down the much needed showers. A chain was put round his neck and he was ignominiously dragged to the Mongolian frontier, when a lucky deluge delivered his godship from his unpleasant position. He was taken back in great state, and the Emperor himself bestowed on him a yellow dress, which still adorned the idol at the time of my visit.

As a specimen of the form in which the popular superstitions in this connection [125]are evidenced the following from a correspondent at Tientsin deserves record. Writing to a Northern journal in May last he says, “The season continues excessively dry, in spite of the liberal petitions to every god by all people whatsoever. The most recent sensation story relates to a Buddhist priest who has conceived the idea of doing a little temple building at the expense of the public credulity, and has accordingly, after interviewing the high officials for permission, announced that he will pray for rain for a period of six or seven days, on an altar for that purpose erected near the Sung Wang Miao, and if within the specified time rain does not fall, he will be burnt alive.” A general curiosity was manifested to know whether this foolish bargain would be kept. Happily for the enthusiast, or impostor, a slight shower which fell an hour or two before the date expired was considered sufficient to save his reputation and his life, Chinese officials not liking to be trifled with in such matters. For the rest, praying for rain is an every-day matter in China where drought is one of the most serious of disasters. By native custom the Emperor is deemed responsible if the drought be at all severe, and numerous are the self-condemnatory Imperial edicts on this subject published in the pages of the venerable Peking Gazette. In extreme cases the Emperor, clothed in humble vestments, sacrifices to Heaven and entreats its benevolence. No touch of superstition this, however,—rather a glimpse of Chinese humanity at its best, conscious of its subjection to a higher will and openly confessing its shortcomings!

Tides share with rain a superstitious belief in their regulation by supernatural beings. The most remarkable phenomenon in connection with this subject to be witnessed in China is the Eagre or bore of the Tsien-tang river which debouches into the sea at the extreme eastern portion of the coast, the city of Hang-chow being situated at its mouth. The Eagre at times causes a rise of tide to the extent of some forty feet opposite the city, and a writer already quoted, in a paper on the subject read before the China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society so long ago as 1853, gives some interesting details of the superstitions connected with it. The Chinese, he says, regard the Eagre as one of the wonders of their world, and it gave its name to the province. “As might be expected, therefore, it is blended with their mythology. It is not a little remarkable, however, that it should be popularly ascribed to the spiritual energy of a 神 shên (or god,) who lived so recently as five hundred and forty years before our era, or about twenty years before the birth of Confucius. At that period the Tsien-tang was the boundary of two belligerent kingdoms, Wú and Yueh. Fu Chai, king of the former, incensed against his minister Wú Tsz’ Si, for opposing the terms of a treaty, submitted by Chung, ambassador of Ku Tsien, King of Yueh, sent him a sword, with which, understanding his master’s will, he committed suicide, by cutting his throat, a method still pursued by sovereigns in China towards officers of distinction who have incurred their displeasure. This incident in ancient history is recorded in the spring and autumn Annals of Confucius; but in a work, entitled “Spring and Autumn Annals of the States of Wú and Yueh,” a historical novel, written several hundred years after, a prevailing myth is superadded to the authentic narrative, which the [126]author himself seems to credit, and which to the present day is received as verity.”

“Wú Tsz’ Si’s corpse, which was thrown into the Tsien-tang, after being carried to and fro by the tide for some time, tunneled a passage through the hills on the Yueh side, as far as the tomb of the quondam ambassador Chung, whose cadaver he took with him to the estuary. Since that period, it is stated Wú Tsz’ Si has been the god of the Eagre, his periodical indignation being exhibited by its violence; hence the sacrifices and prayers officially presented at appointed seasons to propitiate his anger. Monarchs of almost every dynasty have honoured him with titles, so that they are recorded.”8

The superstitions connected with that class of phenomena referable to Volcanic agency are numerous. The many earthquakes which have visited the empire are frequently alleged to have been accompanied by the appearance of white hairs on the ground. As a similar appearance has been observed in Mexico the allegation is doubtless true, and is probably explainable by natural causes. Some scientists are of opinion that these hairs are caused by the mixture of some salt of the soil with a certain gas. But whatever the true reason, the Chinese commonly view them as supernatural productions emblematic of serious disaster. Another very frequently recorded appearance at such times is that of blood falling from the sky, issuing from the ground, or otherwise appearing in unusual places. The following legend regarding lake Man in the prefecture of Sungkiang is related in the native topography of the district. This lake was in former times the site of a flourishing city called Chiang-shui. A report, said to have originated with the children of the place, ran to the effect that whenever blood should be seen upon the gates of the city it would disappear and the site become a lake. Now there lived at Chiang-shui an old woman who being deeply impressed by the possible danger used to come daily to see if blood was on the gates; and some of the soldiers on duty thought in an idle moment that it would be fine fun to hoax her; so they killed a dog and smeared the gates with his blood. The old woman immediately left the place amidst the jeers of the jokers. But their laughter was short-lived. A few days only had elapsed when a flood took place; a fearful noise was heard, and, with scarcely a moment’s warning, the entire city sank into the earth, the resistless waters filling up the hole and forming the lake now visible. The fact appears to be historical, and similar instances of sudden sinking are alleged to have occurred in the same neighbourhood.

Records of sudden fissures in the earth (due it may be safely alleged to volcanic action) are plentiful enough in Chinese annals, but are, of course, always accompanied by other portentous occurrences. A favourite legend [127]relates to the emission of a shên or chiao 蛟 which eventually becomes a dragon. The fissures are due to its efforts to escape from the earth’s interior. “The Shên is popularly described as an embryotic dragon, or a dragon in the first stage of existence. It is formed by the perspiration of that animal falling from the sky upon terrestrial beings. Animals thus affected become Shên, sink into the ground and remain there, some say thirty, some an hundred years, emerging in heavy rains as a Kiau.”9 Other legends record the emission of fragrant vapours from the rents thus made, the issue of blood from springs in place of water, &c. These latter occurrences may have been due to a gush of water through oxide of iron beds, but Chinese records are too unscientific to allow aught save conjecture in this respect. Trees also are recorded as giving forth blood, an appearance due in all probability to the presence of minute insects in exudations from the bark.

Waterspouts are usually spoken of in native annals as dragons, and when more than one is seen they are described as fighting in the air. Nine dragons fighting at sea are recorded as having been seen at Shanghai in the year 1519. The following list of such occurrences is from the authority already quoted—

• A.D. 1605.—A couple of dragons fought at Whampoa and tore up a large tree, and demolished several tens of houses.
• A.D. 1608, 4th moon.—A gyrating dragon was seen over the decorated summit of a pagoda; all around were clouds and fog; the tail only of the dragon was visible; in the space of eating a meal, it went away, leaving the marks of its claws on the pagoda.
• A.D. 1609, 6th moon.—A white dragon was seen at Whangpu; on its head stood a god.
• A.D. 1452, 6th moon.—A dragon at the Tsan stream taking up water, lifted a boat, and transported it to the middle of a field; rain fell to the depth of several feet, soaking plants to death.
• A.D. 1667, 6th moon, 14th day.—Dragons were seen fighting in the air; there was a violent wind and excessive rain; the canal rose four or five feet; many houses were destroyed, a tree above ten armlengths in circumference was torn up &c.
• A.D. 1773, 7th moon, 20th day.—A group of dragons burnt paddy in the field, drew houses into the air and travellers also; hail-stones of two or three catties weight fell, killing houses and animals.
• A.D. 1739, 9th moon, 3rd day.—Dragons fought at Man lake, and went off S. E. to the sea, destroying the paddy as they went.
• A.D. 1787, 7th moon.—Dragons fought; a great wind overturning houses, and carrying off, no one knows where, half a stone bridge.

It is satisfactory to be able to identify the very mythical dragon (as usually deemed) with a tangible force. The popular superstitions regarding it acquire a certain amount of respectability in view of this fact—first pointed out I believe by the ingenious writer above quoted. [128]

Popular beliefs concerning human beings being metamorphosed into stone have been already touched on under the heads of Witchcraft and Demonology, the “stone rams” of Canton being cited as an example. But similar legends, though of less supernatural complexion, exist in all parts of the empire. Shiu Hing Gap 肇慶峽 on the West River is more properly called Ling Yung Hap 羚羊峽 i.e. “Chamois Gap,” since tradition asserts that some such animal was thereabouts transformed into stone. Not far from the same spot, says a traveller who visited the place some ten years since, “The Woman looking for her husband” 望夫石 is pointed out. “Two thirds way up the mountain, in a slight depression between a secondary peak and the main peak above and beyond, and at the head of a ravine which, from a point on the river a little further up, inclines down the stream as it ascends the face of the hill, there is a rock apparently only a few feet in height, which presents a striking resemblance to a woman seated on the ground and looking towards the west. In ascending the pass the view is not fully obtained until you have passed slightly beyond the position, when a good binocular reveals a fine side view of the head and body of a woman, the coiffure being quite distinct and the general appearance tolerably true to life. The legend connected with the rock-freak is that in ancient days the wife of a military officer who had gone to Kwang-Si and fallen in battle, came here day by day to look for his return. Being ignorant of his fate, her vigils were protracted until they were finally rewarded by the transformation of her body into this rock, a conversion into her own monument.”

Such then are a few of the cosmical facts or phenomena in which Chinese superstition finds room for indulgence. I may fitly conclude this chapter by noting an incident in this connection which reflects credit on the Emperor to whom it alludes. A secretion (probably of animal origin) is occasionally found to fall like the manna of old from the sky, and such an event being rare a report of it is always made to the authorities. In the year 1788 a notice that sweet dew had fallen for three days in the Sung Kiang prefecture was sent to the Emperor Yung Ching. The memorial stating the fact “attributed it to the virtues of the monarch, which called down this signal manifestation of heaven’s favor. His Majesty gracefully declined taking the honor to himself, as it did not fall in the palace; but ascribed it to the goodness of the officers and people of the palace, and enjoined on them the duty of acknowledging and proving themselves worthy of the heavenly token.” Pagan gratitude to Heaven, though it sometimes takes queer forms, is not an unknown sentiment in China. [129]