Chapter XIII: Fables and Proverbial Lore (6)

Exorcists are of various kinds. Spiritualists, such as those already described, are frequently called in, their success being various. Taoist priests find more favour with some people, and their pretensions are not one whit inferior to those of the more orthodox media. Conjurors of this sort, says a writer before quoted, “sit on mats and are carried by invisible power from place to place. They ascend to a height of 20 or 30 feet and are carried to a distance of 4 or 5 li. Of this class are those who, in Manchuria, call down fire from the sky in those funerals where the corpse is burnt. These conjurors not only use charms but recite incantations, make magic signs and use some of those strange substances which the astrologer uses to keep away evil influences.” The class of so-called doctors also enjoy the reputation of being able to cast out evil spirits, and their modus operandi is thus described:—“They use needles to puncture the tips of the fingers, the nose, and the neck. They also use a pill made out of ai tsau 艾草 and apply it in the following manner: The thumbs of the two hands are tied tightly to each other. The two big toes are also tied to each other in the same manner. Then one pill is put on the two big toes at the root of the nails and the other at the root of the thumb nails. At the same instant the two pills are set on fire and there they are kept until the flesh is burnt. Whether in the application of the pills or in the piercing of the needles the invariable cry is—‘I am going, I am going immediately. I’ll never dare to come back again. Oh have mercy on me this once; I’ll never return.’” All the above-mentioned practitioners may however fail, and as a last resort a professional exorcist, neither medium, priest, nor doctor, is called in. The men who follow this as a profession pretend to singular experiences. As the recognized enemies of evil spirits these latter never cease to persecute them. They are mysteriously pinched and beaten by the Puck-like emissaries of ghostly tormentors. Stones are thrown at them by unseen beings, and spirit hands seize and attempt to drown them if they incautiously venture into running water. To counteract these influences they always carry about their persons amulets of which the spirits stand in dread. Their first act when called in is to paste written charms upon the windows and doors of the room in which they operate. They then recite certain formulæ and are sometimes answered by the spirits, who promise to cease troubling the patient in future.

As with us there is a sovereign Chinese charm against witches. Sir Walter Scott, in his Old Mortality, refers to the popular belief that they can only be shot with silver bullets. A Chinese receipt given in the Rites of Chow is as follows: “If you wish to kill this Shên, take a certain piece of wood with a hole in it: insert a piece of ivory in the hole, making the form of a cross and throw it into the water: thus the Shên will die and the deep become a hill.” Certain officers were in old times appointed to “hoot at,” “shoot,” and “kill” those spirits (shên) which were injurious.

The popular identification of the cat with matters pertaining to witchcraft in Europe is well known, and it is interesting to find that the Chinese assign to it a somewhat similar connection. As with us the vulgar believe that witches can change themselves into cats, [135] though the hare, and more especially the fox, are reputed to be their more favourite disguises. But the demoniacal attributes of a cat’s ghost are more singular. In Section I. of the Che Wên Luh (誌聞錄) occurs the following notice [136]: “At Leong Chow in the province of Kansuh the people sometimes do homage to the ghost of a cat. The same thing is mentioned in the history of the North. The way they proceed with this monstrous thing is first to hang the cat, and then perform certain ceremonies of fasting and requiems for seven weeks, when the spiritual communication is established. This is afterwards transferred to a wooden tablet, and put up behind the door, where the owner of the cat honours it with offerings. By the side of it is placed a bag about five inches long, intended for the cat’s use. From time to time it goes and steals people’s things, and then, about the fourth watch of the night before cock crowing, the bag is amissing. After a little while it is hung up on the corner of the house, and the person uses a ladder to fetch it down. When the mouth of the bag is opened, and the bag inverted over a chest, as much as two hundred catties of rice or peas are got out of it, so much does the depraved imp manage to make the little space hold. Those who serve it always get rich very fast.”

A certain prefect once received a birthday present of rice from a friend. It weighed over a thousand catties and was put into a large cask. Several days after the prefect sent a man to divide it out, when it was noticed that the top of the flour was all in a crust like paper, while below it was clean gone. The man, in a fright, told the prefect, who sent an officer to enquire into the matter. It was then found that behind the prefect’s residence there was a person who practised sacrificing to this kind of cat. The officer found out the image and severely chastised it in the hall with forty blows, and also flogged its owner. He then laughed and sent them off. After this, as the story goes, the Shin had no efficacy. Choo-tzu says—“The spirituousness (Ling) of Shên is the result of the accumulated earnestness of the people—there is really no Shên. When one turns his back upon it the spirituousness is immediately dispersed. Therefore while the people honor it the Shin keeps its place, but you may scatter it with a kick.”

Tigers also figure as demoniacs or ghosts. In the same work as that above quoted from a story relates how a benighted traveller suddenly observed amongst the brushwood a brilliant light and a man in red clothes, with a golden crown and armour of rare brightness, and before and behind him a regular retinue of followers. The traveller was astonished, and, wondering what mandarin it could be, hid himself in the wood. Next day he asked the natives of the place who it could have been. They told him it was the tiger ghost of the mountains. “When he wishes to eat people up he puts off his clothes and is changed into a striped tiger. He then advances with a great roar and the traveller is instantly torn in pieces.” “You,” said they, “have had a wonderful escape.”

Nor are tigers alone in this regard. The ghosts of the “green ox” and “black fowl” [137] are mentioned in native legends; while a yet more fantastic extract narrates that “the carp as soon as its scales number 360 is caught and carried away by dragons; but if every year a shên be placed to guard it, it cannot be carried away. This shên is a tortoise.” [138]

Dragons again furnish their quota of ghostly representatives, and the following legend accounts for the popular belief. “During the reign of an emperor of the Tʻang dynasty, the dragon god of rain had greatly offended the Supreme god, and orders were consequently given to the prime minister to behead him on such and such a day. On the night before the execution, the dragon god of rain appeared in a dream to the Emperor and begged him to intercede on his behalf and exercise his influence over his minister. The Emperor promised he would. The following day the Emperor invited his minister to play chess with him. He hoped he would forget the time, and that the dragon god would thus be saved. As the hour drew nigh the minister got very sleepy. The Emperor seeing this, said nothing about the dragon god, but let the minister sleep. Suddenly, the latter jumped up and said, ‘I must behead immediately;’ and right between them a dragon’s head fell from the sky. The King fell back with fright and was taken ill. That night the dragon’s ghost appeared to him in a dream and threatened him severely for this breach of promise, insisting on bringing the case up before the judge of the lower regions. The Emperor explained, begged forgiveness and made a promise, the results of which remain to this day. He engaged to honour the dragon god by having all his high officers and the great people of the land to carry the dragon above their heads. The plan adopted was to place a dragon’s head on every palace roof, so that when the gentry and officials were at home, they had a dragon’s head over them. The head seen so often on temples and palaces is said to have had this origin.” In those days, adds the account from which the foregoing is quoted, the demons had such unlimited power to transform themselves that a son would not leave his father, or a husband his wife, without secret tickets, which they carried about with them and compared on meeting. If a person was unable to produce the ticket he was believed to be a demon in human form. This is the origin of the proverb: “If your ticket be lost, you are hopeless.”

But of all known animals the fox plays the principal part in Chinese demonology. European folk-lore assigns a prominent place to the were-wolves (Germ. Wehrwolf, Port. Lobis-homem), which are even now believed by the superstitious peasantry of many countries to haunt their native forests. Well, in China we find the same idea in a slightly different form. The fox takes the place of the wolf, and “fairy foxes” play an important part in every native collection of supernatural tales. The belief in their existence dates from remote antiquity, though more prevalent in Northern than in Southern China, the inhabitants of the latter taking the doings of genii more especially as the basis of their fairy lore. There is however this difference between the were-wolf and the fairy fox:—that whereas the former is invariably malicious, the latter may be either beneficent or malignant. In many of the tales the fox is only transformed (as in the well-known nursery story of “Beauty and the Beast”) into human shape after making acquaintance with its host. “At the age of 50 the fox can take the form of a woman, and at that of 100 can assume the appearance of a young and beautiful girl. When 1000 years old he is admitted to the heavens and becomes the celestial fox.” [139]

In and about Peking the belief in foxes having power to assume a human shape flourishes perhaps more thoroughly than in any other part of the empire, though similar stories are told throughout the eighteen provinces. The Liao-chai-chih-yi (聊齋志異), a collection of tales published in 1765, abounds with narrations of this nature, many of the most curious, unfortunately, being unsuitable for publication in an English dress. But the whole subject has been so fully dealt with in accessible publications that the extended notice which the subject would permit is unnecessary. Dr. Birch, of the British Museum, wrote an interesting paper on the subject of Fairy Foxes [140] in No. III., of the Chinese and Japanese Repository (1863), which was followed by a notice from the pen of the well-known sinologue Mr. W. F. Mayers, in No. III., of Vol. I., of Notes and Queries on China and Japan (1867). The most complete essay on the subject, however, which has yet appeared was written by Mr. T. Watters, and read before the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society in March 1873. That accurate and painstaking scholar thus opens his remarks on the subject:—

“Chinese philosophers seem to be agreed in attributing to Reynard a long life, some making the number of his years 800 and others extending it even to a thousand. This power of prolonging life they suppose to result from the animal’s living in caves and holes where it is shut out from the sun. The vital powers can thus operate free from disturbance and the wearing effect of the sun’s heat and light. The fox, badger, mole and some other cave-dwelling animals are all grouped together as enjoying long life. The Chinese are not alone in thus regarding the exclusion of light and air as tending to prolong existence. Not to refer to others, our own Bacon says:—‘A life in caves and holes, where the rays of the sun do not enter, may perhaps tend to longevity; for the air of itself unexcited by heat has not much power to prey upon the body. Certainly on looking back, it appears from many remains and monuments that the size and stature of men were anciently much greater than they had been since, as in Sicily and some other places; and such men generally lived in caves. Now there is some affinity between length of age and largeness of limbs. The cave of Epimenides likewise passes current among the fables.’”

The use of the several parts of the fox’s body in the Chinese pharmacopeia is followed by an account of the Chinese opinion of his cunning, in which we read as follows:—

“Like most Western nations the Chinese ascribe to the fox a cunning, crafty disposition by which he can disarm suspicion on the part of the very animals which constitute his prey.... The notion about the fox’s caution is put to practical use in the North of China, for it has been observed that when he is crossing a frozen river or lake he advances very slowly and deliberately, putting his head down close to the ice and listening for the sound of water beneath. Accordingly when in the early spring the traveller fears the stability of the ice, if he observes on its surface traces of the fox’s footsteps he may proceed any without apprehension. One can easily see what an opportunity is presented here again to the Chinese mind for the exercise of myth-making ingenuity. Below the ice is the region of the Yin or female element—the dark world of death and obscurity—while above it is the region of the Yang or male element—the bright world of life and activity. Accordingly it has come to pass that the fox is represented as living on the debatable land which is neither the earth of life nor the Hades of death. His dwelling place on the earth is among the tombs, or actually, rather, within the tomb, and the spirits of the deceased often occupy the body. Thus he enables ghosts of the dead to return to life or himself performs their terrible behest—visiting upon living men and women the iniquities they have committed against those now dead, and by this means bringing peace and rest to the souls of the latter which would else be travelling and troubling for ever.”

From the numerous stories given by Mr. Watters in illustration of the popular belief in the fox’s powers of transformation, I take only the following:—“It is as a pretty girl that the fox appears most frequently and does most mischief. Disguised as a woman it is always young and handsome, generally wicked, but on rare occasions very good. At times it puts on the garb and appearance of some one well known, but who is either dead or at a great distance. An accomplished scholar who resides in a village about twenty miles from Foochow told me not long ago a story which affords an illustration of this personation of particular individuals. A friend of his had ill-treated and, as was supposed, secretly killed a pretty young wife and married another. Soon after this latter event the house was reported to be haunted and no servant would remain in the family. The first wife’s apartments were the worst of all, and this part of the premises had to be abandoned. Now one day my friend was reading with the master of the house in the works of Chuhsi, and they came to the passage which treats of ghosts and spirits. They then ceased reading and entered into a conversation on the subject, and the story of the haunted chambers was related. My friend laughed at and reproached the weakness which made a scholar believe in ghosts, and finally the two agreed to remove to that portion of the dreadful rooms. Before they had been seated here a long time, strange sounds became audible and soon the pit-pat of a woman’s steps was heard. The door opened without any noise, and in walked the murdered woman clothed as of old. The blood forsook the two men’s faces, speech fled their lips, and had it not been for the law of gravity their pigtails would have stood on end. There they sat paralyzed with mute awe and gazing on the spectre, which went pit-pat over the boards looking neither to right nor left until it reached the corner in which was a small wash-hand-stand with a basin of water. She took the basin in her hand and walked steadily with it over to the man who had been her husband, presenting it to him, when he instantly uttered a terrible scream and fell backwards. Then the spectral woman walked away and her patter was heard along the boards until she reached the outer door. My friend summoned up courage to go out and make investigation, but no human creature had been stirring, and only the fox which came almost daily had been seen on the premises. The house has been abandoned, the owner has gone elsewhere, but my friend believes that the ghost of the murderer’s wife will torment him by means of a fox daily until it brings him to the grave.”

It would be easy to multiply stories of this nature, but their narration would unduly swell the limits of the chapter, while those who are curious on the subject can easily refer to Mr. Watters’s paper. I prefer therefore to turn to the analogies with Chinese belief presented elsewhere. Neither amongst the Semitic nor Aryan races can I find, in the authorities at my command, that any demoniacal power has ever been attributed to the fox. No reference to the animal appears in Brand, and in Continental Europe the wolf alone figures in fairy tales as the dangerous and crafty enemy of man. But we learn on the authority of Dr. Macgowan that “when the Pilgrim Fathers landed in Massachusetts, they found the Indians, especially those of Naragannset, deeply imbued with fox superstitions, many of them similar to those mentioned above.” Notices of these are found at considerable length in the works of the Rev. Mr. Elliot, known as the “Apostle of the Indians.” In Japan, again, we find fox-myths a mighty power in the State. Dr. Macgowan describes a primer—the first book put into the hands of Japanese children; it was profusely illustrated with wood-cuts, in which was depicted in full detail the progress of the Fox’s courtship. Thus, even in the education of childhood, the fox-myth weaves itself into the texture of Japanese thought. The fox was understood to be most mischievously inclined, and was especially mischievous in its domestic relations. It was believed, in Japan, to be no uncommon incident for a fox to transform itself into a charming young woman, who got married to some loving Japanese swain and had a family. By-and-bye something went awry in the domestic experiences, on which the mischievous fox-elf resumed her foxhood, and all her progeny did the same, and scampered off to their homes in dead men’s tombs, leaving the late happy husband and father desolate and wretched. A recent newspaper paragraph, by the way, describes a murder committed at Chikuzen in which the murderer was discovered to be insane. Different members of his family, for three generations back, had gone mad, it was said, in consequence of one of their ancestors having injured a fox!—So much for the fox, thus summarily dismissed inasmuch as other writers have dealt so fully with his alleged powers.

Leaving the animal, for the mineral, world we note that even stones possess the reputation of being inhabited by spirits. A well-known Taoist legend relates that Chang Liang, a counsellor of the founder of the Han dynasty, derived his knowledge from a sage who was eventually metamorphosed into a yellow stone. Another legend tells how one of the immortals kept a flock of sheep who were changed to stone, but reassumed their proper shape at a word from their shepherd. Mr. W. F. Mayers, in his article on Canton in the Treaty Ports of China and Japan, thus describes the Legend from which Canton derives its soubriquet of the “City of Rams”:—“In the temple of the ‘Five Genii’ were until lately the stone images of five (supernatural) rams, but these latter were destroyed in a conflagration which consumed the rear building in which they stood some three years since. The legend with reference to the foundation of this temple is that, some twenty centuries ago, five shepherds were seen on the site where the building now stands, who suddenly became transformed into an equal number of rams, while these again instantly changed into stone, a voice being heard at the same time proclaiming that, so long as these supernatural objects should be worshipped on this spot, the prosperity of the adjoining city should endure. From that day forward (runs the story) these images have remained on the identical spot, and it is certain that from time immemorial they have been looked upon with superstitious reverence, nor is it the less remarkable that the destruction of their shrine should coincide so closely with the actual decline in the prosperity of the city. The stones were almost shapeless blocks of granite, about eighteen inches high and the same in length, with some rude attempt at sculpture in the form of a ram’s head. From them and their attendant legend Canton derived its soubriquet of the City of Rams (羊城), but the legend itself is traced by Chinese philosophers to an accidental resemblance between the word signifying ‘ram’ or ‘sheep’ and the ancient designation of the province of Kwangtung. This is a striking corroboration of Professor Müller’s dictum that all myths are merely amplifications of some forgotten sound.”

A popular superstition recounts that in Lʻien-chow, in the province of Kwang-si, when any person walking, happens to hit his foot against a stone, and afterwards falls sick, his family immediately prepares an offering of fruit, wine, rice and incense; and proceeding to the spot, bow down and worship, after which the person gets well. They imagine that the stone is possessed by a demon. Gamblers frequently pray to stones thus possessed for “luck.”

IX.—ELVES, FAIRIES, AND BROWNIES.

An accurate definition of the Chinese idea of elves and fairies is somewhat difficult. In many cases the word shin 神, spirit, or, as some will have it, God—can only be translated by “elf” or “brownie,” while on other occasions one is puzzled under what category to place creatures who play too important a part in Chinese belief to be omitted from these pages, while strictly answering to nothing known in the West. China, at all events, boasts an infinity of beings who are alleged to possess the general characteristics of our local sprites. As with us they are sometimes malicious and sometimes merely playful. But I fancy that, in the main, a more stern air of purpose runs through Chinese than through European fairy legend. The wildest native inventions have never endowed the fairy community with, “houses made all with mother-o’-pearl, an ivory tennis-court, a nutmeg parlour, a sapphire dairy-room, chambers of agate, &c., &c.” [141] Still less do we find anything resembling Shakespeare’s Queen Mab:—

“Her waggon spokes made of long spinner’s legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider’s web
The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film.” [142]

We hear little amongst the Chinese of fairy sprites whose highest aim is mere amusement, their action being usually, as with a certain class of brownies in our own fairy pantheon, malignant. It is, by the way, interesting to note that while the words alp and alf (Swedish and English elf) equally signify a mountain, or demon of the mountains, [143] the Chinese most frequently assign a mountainous locality to the homes of their fairy folk. The celebrated mountain Kwʻên Lun (崑崙) (usually identified with the Hindoo Kush) is said to be peopled with fairies who cultivate upon its terraces the “fields of sesamum and gardens of coriander seeds” which are eaten as ordinary food by those who possess the gift of Longevity. Here too is the “Lake of Gems” on whose borders dwells the fairy mother Si wang mu (西王母) and beside whose waters flourishes the kʻiung shu or tree of life, described as 10,000 cubits in height, 1800 feet in circumference and supposed to bear fruit only once in 3,000 years. This fruit is bestowed by the fairies on their favourites, who thus become immortal. Other receipts for the “Elixir of Life” are peach-tree gum mixed with the powdered ash of the mulberry, and tan 丹 the elixir of gold, or tan sha 丹砂 the common name for cinnabar.

There are some curious resemblances between Chinese and Western superstitions on the subject of storm-fiends or fairies. Thus the storm-raiser in China is not unlike his prototype in Scotland. Sir James Melville in his Memoirs tells us that “the spirit or devil that helped the Scottish witches to raise a storm in the sea of Norway was cold as ice, and his body hard as iron; his face was terrible, his nose like the beak of an eagle, great burning eyes, his hands and legs hairy, with claws on his nails like a griffin.” The Chinese demon of the storm is thus described in the Shan hai ching 山海經. “In Daylight mountain dwells the shên called Ke-mung. His shape is like a man with a dragon’s head. He wanders about continually in the depths of the Chang river, and whenever he comes over or goes in there is sure to be a violent storm and rain.”

Fairies in China indeed, as with us, usually possess the attribute of beauty. A well-known Chinese legend relates how two friends wandering amongst the ravines of their native mountains in search of herbs for medicinal purposes come to a fairy bridge where two maidens of more than earthly beauty are on guard. They invite them to the fairy land which lies on the other side of the bridge, and the invitation being accepted they become enamoured of the maidens, and pass what to them seems a short though blissful period of existence with the fairy folk. At length they desire to revisit their earthly homes and are allowed to return, when they find that seven generations have lived and died during their apparently short absence, they themselves having become centenarians. [144] Another version of the story is found in the Liao chai chih yi. About A.D. 60 or 70 two friends named Yüan Chao and Liu Chʻên when wandering amongst the Tʻien-tʻai mountains lost their way, and after wandering about for some time at length came upon a fairy retreat where two beautiful girls received them and fed them on hu ma 胡麻 (hemp, the Chinese haschisch). After spending what seems only a few days with their hostesses they return home and find to their astonishment that seven generations have passed away since they made the acquaintance of the maidens. [145] I may here remark that this Rip Van Winkle sort of story takes several forms in China, and a slight digression on this subject may be pardoned. A legend, related of Wang Chih, one of the patriarchs of the Taoist sect, involves him in a similar catastrophe with less obvious excuse than in the case of the two friends above mentioned. [146] Wandering one day in the mountains of Kü Chow to gather firewood “he entered a grotto in which some aged men were seated intent upon a game of chess. He laid down his axe and looked on at their game, in the course of which one of the old men handed him a thing in shape and size like a date stone, telling him to put it into his mouth. No sooner had he tasted it than ‘he became oblivious of hunger and thirst.’ After some time had elapsed, one of the players said, ‘It is long since you came here, you should go home now!’ whereupon Wang Chih proceeding to pick up his axe found that its handle had mouldered into dust. On repairing to his home he found that centuries had passed since the time when he had left it for the mountains, and that no vestige of his kinsfolk remained. Retiring to a retreat among the hills he devoted himself to the rites of Taoism, and finally attained to immortality”—a very un-Van-Winkle-like termination to the legend.

The striking resemblance of these to legends popular throughout Europe needs no demonstration, they being in fact identical with Erse, Gaelic and Teutonic stories yet related in their respective neighbourhoods. The bridge in the first story is described as the “Azure bridge,” the fairy home being known as the “Jaspar city.” “Yao chi” or the “Jaspar lake” is the name given to a sheet of water which it is believed forms one of its chief attractions, and to speak of a Chinese lady as “a nymph of the Jaspar lake” is to pay her the highest compliment for purity and beauty.

The somewhat particular, and at times pugnacious, “Brownie” is supposed to exist in China. Readers acquainted with our north-country folk-lore will be aware that a practice exists in many parts of the country of setting out milk &c. for the consumption of some household brownie, who performs willing labour for the benefit of its entertainer, the one proviso being that the brownie’s operations are never to be overlooked by mortal eye. It is curious, in this connection, to find such a Chinese legend as the following recorded (Tʻan ching 談徵, vol. 4):—“In the Tsʻê dynasty there was one Chang Ching, who went out one night and saw a woman on the south corner of his house who beckoned him to come to her; and when he came she said: ‘This is your honour’s mulberry ground, and I am the shên of this place. If you will make next year, in the middle of the first moon, some thick congee, and present it to me I will engage to make your mulberry trees a hundred times more productive.’ Having said this she disappeared. Ching made the congee and afterwards had a great crop of silkworms. Thence arose the practice of making thickened congee on the 15th of the first moon.” Of the more truculent class of brownies we also hear a good deal in China. In an article on “Gunpowder and arms in China,” published in a recent volume of the N. C. B. R. A. S. Transactions, the author, Mr. W. F. Mayers, quotes from the Shin-i-king the following: “Among the hills in the Western parts [of China?] there exist beings in human shape, a foot or more in height, who are by nature very fearless. If attacked [or offended] they cause men to sicken with [alternate] heat and cold. They are called Shan sao.” It was to frighten these brownies that the practice of burning bamboos, now-a-days substituted by fire-crackers, (as already alluded to,) was adopted. Another account makes the Shan-sias or Shan-sao, to be a species of bird which when attacked summons tigers to its aid and burns down dwelling houses. In any case these beings bear many points of resemblance to our own sprites, especially those that are malignant. A curious story, which may serve as the type of many such, is also given in the same volume as that from which the above is derived, the locale given being Lew-chew, which until very lately was deemed a dependency of China. It relates how a fairy in the guise of a beautiful woman is found bathing in a man’s well. He persuades her to marry him, and she remains with him for nine years, at the end of which time, despite the affection she has for their two children, she “glides upwards into a cloud” and disappears. We find a very similar story in the Arabian nights, and both Germany and the Shetland islands give us an almost identical legend.

A large proportion of the fairy tales of all countries are of course what grave scholars denominate “puerile”; but I need hardly apologise for giving the two following, which illustrate both the idea of diminutive stature attributed to fairies and the yet more common endowment of animals and insects with fairy power. In the work (Tʻan ching) above quoted from we read that the Emperor Yuen Tsung of Tʻang had imperial ink called Dragon fragrance. One day he saw in the ink little Taoist priests like flies walking about, and they called to him, “Live for ever! Your servants are the spiritual essence of ink, the ambassadors of the black pine. Whoever in the world has literary cultivation must have twelve of us dragon guests in his ink.” This is not badly matched by the following: “A youth while sleeping was accosted by a maiden who asked him to accompany her for protection against some menaced danger, telling him she was a princess in disguise; but he turned away from her. Soon afterwards he heard the noise of humming and saw entangled in the web of a spider a bee about to be devoured. He released the bee, placed it upon the ink-slab, when by the impression of its feet it left the character “Grateful” and flew away. He followed it with his eyes and saw it enter a honey-comb suspended above. The disguised princess was the bee.” Sir John Bowring, who gives this story in almost the same words, adds, “It is easy to fancy that the character or sign meaning ‘Gratitude’ could be made by the impress of a bee’s feet.” I fear that the learned ex-governor of Hongkong was in this instance indulging in an exaggeration not unusual with him.

Chinese popular stories also abound with references to “kelpies” such as in Scotland are reported to haunt fords and ferries. A not less popular belief credits the monkey tribe with peculiar attributes as being possessed by fairies who make woman-stealing an ordinary avocation—thus affording a curious parallel to a South-African superstition. In the History of the White Monkey, by Kung Tʻsing, we read that a man of Leang, who had a very pretty wife, was travelling and came to pass some time at Chang-toh. Warned by the people of the place that a local shên was given to stealing females he conceals his wife in an inner room: but, despite all his precautions, on the second night in the fourth watch she is abducted. After seeking her high and low amidst great perils he at length comes to a stone door in a mountain facing the East, and learns from women passing in and out that his wife is within. To effect her deliverance he is advised to provide two kilderkins of spirits, ten dogs and several pounds of hemp. With this the women in the cave promise to attempt the shên’s capture. The shên accordingly sees and devours the dogs and drinks the spirits, when he is securely bound with the hemp. The husband being called in, finds an enormous monkey bound hand and foot to the bed, and Ngau-yang Hih (the husband) kills him, thus releasing all the females in his power.

Fairies who embody the powers of nature are firmly believed in. “The Emperor Liang when tired fell asleep in the sunshine and dreamed that he was visited by a woman of celestial beauty. He asked whence she came and who she was. ‘I live on the terrace of the Sun on the Enchanted Mountain. In the morning I am a cloud, in the evening a shower of rain.’” The popular credence which this legend obtains argues a very deep-seated belief in the fairy-like attributes of representatives of the powers of nature, and shows a close analogy to the Western legend of the “Spirit of the Mist.”

But the Chinese people other spheres with Fairy inhabitants; and there is a touch of the imaginative in such beliefs which rather induces sympathy with than hostility to their tenour. The universal legend of the Man in the Moon takes in China a form that is at least as interesting as the ruder legends of more barbarous peoples. The “Goddess of the Palace of the Moon,” Chang-o, appeals as much to our sympathies as, and rather more so than, the ancient beldame who in European folk-lore picks up perpetual sticks to satisfy the vengeful ideas of an ultra-sabbathaical sect. Mr. G. C. Stent has aptly seized the idea of the Chinese versifier whom he translates:—

“On a gold throne, whose radiating brightness
Dazzles the eyes—enhaloing the scene,
Sits a fair form, arrayed in snowy whiteness.
—She is Chang-o, the beauteous Fairy Queen.
Rainbow-winged angels softly hover o’er her
Forming a canopy above the throne,
A host of fairy beings stand before her
Each robed in light and girt with meteor zone.”

Making every allowance for the polish of translation, the foregoing verses intimate a delicacy of perception that raises Chinese fairy folk-lore to the level of our own. It is scarcely necessary to quote, from European sources, verses which in sentiment express a similar idea.

Fairy Tales abound in Chinese resembling those in Arabic folk-lore. A very well-known legend relates how a celebrated musician, aspiring to wed a princess who played so exquisitely on the flute that all the birds, even to the eagle, came down from heaven to listen to her, was accepted, on shewing proof of this ability as her husband. “Too good to live,” however, the pair were transformed into genii, and still occupy a place in the somewhat vast arcana of Chinese gods. Other legends relate to animals becoming endowed with the gift of speech. Thus Chwang-tzŭ, the hero of a story which has been popularized by Mr. Stent under the heading “Fanning the Grave,” is related to have reached a river, the banks of which were almost dry. Various small fishes thereupon petitioned him to restore their much-needed element—water—representing that if he did not do so, they would all perish; and their request was acceded to. Ireland and Germany both give us similar legends.

To sum up, I am inclined to the conclusion that no very real distinction obtains in Chinese folk-lore between the various beings described in the West as demons, genii and fairies, though, as I have endeavoured to shew, supernatural creatures, possessing the attributes of each, are fully believed in. The constant application of the term shên 神 in this connection seems to me an argument against its adoption by Christian missionaries to express our own conception of the Creator. It is singular, by the way, to find that just as we use the word “spirit” in two different senses when we say “God is a spirit” and “He is a man of spirit,” the Chinese in like manner make the word shên do double duty. Of course the argument cuts both ways; but its inapplicability to the Chinese side lies in the fact that the language provides no word for the one ultimate cause. Whatever word our missionaries agree upon must do some violence to the native idea. The subject is, however, too wide to be more than incidentally touched on here. Suffice it to say that both in the everyday language of the people and in popular literature shên conveys the idea of gods, spirits, fairies or demons only. A careful consideration of this fact is imperative in any discussion as to its adoption in Christian books to express the Hebrew “Jehovah.”

X.—SERPENTS, DRAGONS, FABULOUS ANIMALS AND MONSTERS.

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 succession familiar indeed to the sons of Han. [147] 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, [148] 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 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.” [149]

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.

“He quitted his sword, and bent his bow,
He gave her kisses three;
She crept into her hole a worme
But out stept a ladye.” [150]

The well-known Linton worm or dragon [151] 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 the Fuhkien seaboard, in which the poisonous character of a serpent’s breath is an important element. [152] 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.