CHIN-CHIN

CHIN-CHIN
OR
THE CHINAMAN AT HOME

BY
TCHENG-KI-TONG
(Late of the Imperial Chinese Legation)

TRANSLATED BY
R. H. SHERARD

Published by A. P. MARSDEN
27 Southampton Street, Covent
Garden, London. Mdcccxcv

Note.—The price at which this book is supplied to the Trade will not permit of its being sold at a discount.

PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR

The friendly welcome accorded by the English Public to my “Chinese Painted by Themselves” has encouraged me to publish this translation of my last work.

Old Epicurus summed up his philosophy in pleasures well understood. The peoples of the world, all epicureans in a certain measure, amused themselves before him, and have amused themselves since, each after his own fashion.

I do not think I shall displease the people of the Country often called “Merry England” in bringing to their notice “The Chinaman at Home.”

INTRODUCTORY

Our pleasures are not such as to shock modesty; they are simple and honest, as becomes an ancient nation, which has left the age of youthful follies long behind it, has due self-respect, and knows how to amuse itself decently.

In my book, “Chinese Tales,” I endeavoured to show the minor details of the life of my compatriots, whose political and social customs I have described in my other book, “The Chinese Painted by Themselves.” The object of this new book is to give a picture of our private amusements and of our small public fêtes. It belongs, accordingly, to anthropological literature, describing as it does a series of ethnological phenomena, games, ceremonies, and fêtes, which, however much they may resemble those to be seen in all other countries, have, nevertheless, a special character in each country. This character depends largely on the national conceptions of the people under consideration.

Everybody amuses himself as he thinks best. This affirmation is as true for nations as it is for individuals. Our joys and our ways of manifesting them are they not the expression of our individuality? And when a whole people rejoices in a certain manner, does not that mean that it offers in its fêtes a kind of picture of its inner life, a synthesis of its dearest aspirations and desires? Our pleasures are determined by our moral and philosophical, political, and social views. Religion has much also to do in fashioning them according to her likeness. The character of a nation is never better shown than in its enjoyments—its fêtes; in one word, in its pleasures. Tell me how you amuse yourself, and I will tell you what you are.

In the task I have laid upon myself of revealing the Asiatic East to the European West, it seems to me that this new chapter will not be out of place. In any case, the author will be sufficiently rewarded if the reader—albeit only for a moment—finds some pleasure in turning over the leaves of the book he has written.

CONTENTS

CHIN-CHIN;
OR,
THE CHINAMAN AT HOME

CHAPTER I
THE CHINESE HOME

I remember reading in Mr. Paleologue’s clever book, “L’Art Chinois,” the statement “that China never had but one single style of architecture, throughout all the periods of its history, for her public and private, civic, or ecclesiastical buildings.”

Now, a close observer will notice in our buildings a great variety of styles, the fineness of which naturally is lost upon those who do not take the trouble to examine them carefully. It is just like a passer-by looking at some of the new streets in Paris, where all the houses are built by one and the same building company, and resemble one another externally; or at the grand avenues in New York City, or the long strassen in Karlsruhe, spread out round a central square in the shape of a fan. At first sight one cannot help the exclamation that these buildings produce a desperately monotonous impression.

But should you pay the architect a visit and examine the plans of these various constructions, you cannot fail to notice that not one interior resembles another. The difference is as slight as the physiognomies of different people, who have the same features but have different faces.

It is true that long ago there was little variety in our architectural styles, but in spite of that it can be asserted that each of our cities has a special character, and presents, as far as its buildings are concerned, distinctive features.

There are many reasons for this want of variety. In the first place, those foreign elements, which so often so profoundly modified European architecture, have been almost completely wanting in China. Then it must be remembered that official prescriptions regulate the style of houses for different functionaries, a custom which must necessarily limit architectural originality and fancy; and then there is tradition, which is so powerful in our country, and which did not allow of any modification of the pure Chinese style, which had been consecrated by the use of centuries.

Let us now examine the different kinds of Chinese houses.

In the northern districts, less favoured by Nature, buildings are generally constructed of earth. It is only the palaces and the houses of rich people of which the framework is of wood. In spite of the severity of the climate and the quantities of dust which are brought by the wind from the sandy regions, these houses have, generally speaking, two stories, in which they differ considerably from the houses in the south, which have rarely more than one. The walls are low, with but a very slight curve at the top, whereas in the south this curve, which we style “the saddle,” is very pronounced. These walls are called “fire-walls,” because they are intended to protect the house against fire.

The upper storey is called “the pavilion of the horse races,” a name I have never been able to account for, as the staircases were never such as to allow of horses being brought up them. This upper storey is generally used as a place of pleasure, the ground floor being preferred as an ordinary dwelling-place. The Chinese love symmetry in all things, and so, no matter the size of the ground on which they build, their houses are always constructed so that the drawing-room is just opposite the entrance door, and that on either side of it there be one or two rooms exactly the same. Instead of speaking of our houses as having so many rooms, we say, “It has such a number of rooms on the front—three, five, seven,” &c.

The following is a description of a good average middle-class dwelling:

On entering you find yourself in a large antechamber, flanked on the right and on the left by a servants’ room. Facing you are three doors, one large and two small, giving access to a courtyard, which is entered by descending a staircase of three steps. On either side of the courtyard there is first a paved gallery, then a room. One of these rooms is reserved for the children of the house, the other is a smoking-room, or small drawing-room.

The drawing-room is reached by ascending the three steps on the other side of the yard. On its left and right hand side there are one, two, or three rooms. Behind the drawing-room is the dining-room, flanked also on either side with one, two, or three rooms. Then comes a second courtyard, with the kitchen and lumber-room on the right and left. If the house is a large one, you will find three, five, or seven more rooms behind this courtyard. The same distribution may be repeated over and over again where the habitation is very vast. The garden, with its kiosques and its artificial rockeries, is on one of the wings, and is surrounded with walls.

The rent of an ordinary house, such as the one that I have just described, is about two pounds eight shillings a year.

The roof is more or less elevated, but it always is very sloping, and is covered with overlapping tiles, so as to allow the rain to run off easily.

The windows are large, the framework being of wood. The panes are of glass, silk, or transparent paper, according to the part of the country. Instead of endeavouring to protect themselves against draughts, the Chinese do all they can to procure currents of air through the house.

The interior decoration is generally very luxurious. The prominent parts of the wood-work are carved, the flat parts are varnished. The walls are hidden behind paintings representing historical scenes; the wall which fronts the drawing-room is usually painted with a subject referring to the rank of the master of the house. On entering the drawing-room the eye is at once caught by the sight of a gilt and carved box, which hangs from the horizontal rafter under the roof. On either side of it is a large gilt dragon, who seems to be guarding it. This box contains the patents of nobility or commissions of official rank held by the proprietor.

The paper on which the words “Happiness” or “Long Life,” which are given to members of the family by the Emperor according to their merits, are also hung up in this place.

The furniture of the drawing-room is extremely simple. There is a long, large table in the middle, with eight chairs arranged on the two sides; between each set of two chairs is a little square tea-table. Then there are two square stools.

The places of visitors are arranged according to their rank; the stools are always reserved for the master of the house. When the visit is a ceremonious one, or there is a fête in the family, the chairs, which are usually of marble or of bamboo, are covered with embroidered red satin covers, which is just the contrary of what is done in Europe, where the furniture is uncovered for receiving. There are always a large mirror, a vase of flowers, a plate of decorative fruits, and a clock on the drawing-room table. In the centre stands a scent-burner.

On the walls are rolls of autographs or paintings from the pens and pencils of celebrities of style or of art. Very few nick-nacks are to be seen in our drawing-rooms, which we make as severe and simple as we can. Only occasionally does one see a few nick-nacks in the little drawing-rooms, or in the pleasure kiosk in the garden. The greater part are hidden away in cupboards, and are only produced at the Fête of the Moon, of which I speak further on, or on certain religious festivals.

We have neither cupboards in the walls, such as are the delight of Parisian housewives, nor alcoves in our houses in China.

This is a fair description of a Chinese home. I do not speak of the dwelling-places of the poor, which are as sad as little decorative. Happiness, it has been said, has no history, but it is wealth that alone admits of description. Misery is not to be depicted, unless, as in Theophile Gautier’s “Capitaine Fracasse,” it is lodged in an old castle, picturesquely in ruins.

CHAPTER II
RELIGIOUS AND NATIONAL FÊTES

It is terribly hot, forty degrees in the shade, and summer has only just begun. It is the fifth day of the fifth moon, the date on which the Fête of the Dragon is celebrated.

The town changes its aspect completely. This is owing to the numberless red papers which are stuck on every door, and on which can be read wishes of happiness formulated in the most diversified manner. At the side of these papers are two bunches of Indian grass, with the roots tightly tied up with red strings, nailed to the door. It is a popular belief that this plant, with its sword-shaped leaves, drives away all evil spirits.

After having performed the usual sacrifices before the tablets of our ancestors, we feast en famille on ceremonial dishes, and drink that wine, tinctured with orpiment, which, according to a very general opinion, destroys the germs of epidemic diseases for the whole ensuing year.

When noon strikes we hasten to put bowls of water in the courtyard to catch the rays of the sun, which is in the centre of the sky. It is said that the water thus irradiated renders excellent services to women in labour.

After breakfast we go to the West Lake to see the dragon canoe races. These are very long flat boats, manned by from twenty to thirty oarsmen. The figure-head is either a colossal dragon or a prancing horse. A sailor astride on the animal holds in his hands a large flag, the movements of which serve as commands to the helmsman, who is standing motionless at the stern. Behind the dragon is an orchestra, which fills the air with the rolling of drums, mingled with the thunder of the tam-tams.

The goal is seen far off; sometimes it is a living duck. When the boat approaches the bird dives under and tries to escape, but it is usually caught after a short chase, and brought up in triumph, struggling and squealing. More often, however, it is a large piece of bamboo, to which is fastened a piece of rich silk stuff, the offering of some society. The winner keeps this as his prize.

As soon as the signal has been given the struggle begins; flags fly, waving now to the left, now to the right, indicating the way to be followed to the human statue, who, seated at the helm, guides the effort of the sailors. Urged on by the numerous oars, the canoes glide rapidly over the water, like gigantic centipedes, amidst the cries of the spectators, crowding together on the banks, or on the decks and in the cabins of the pleasure-junks anchored along the river side.

Then may be seen the fluttering of a thousand fans, beating in unison with the hearts of the spectators. The waves, driven up by the canoes running to the banks, bury, for the moment, the lotus flowers and water-lilies, which soon, however, reappear fresher and more pure for their short immersion; the broad leaves of the nenuphar rising up again, bring with them some of the water of the river, and let it fall off again in cascades of glittering pearls. Now they are again immersed, once more to rise; in a continual coming and going, which lasts for many hours.

This is the Chinese nautical Grand Prix, and the aspect of the lake is really fairy-like. Imagine the boxes at the Grand Opera in Paris, or the grand stand at Longchamps, placed on floating flower barges in the middle of a river, with panes of glass of every colour; add to this picture ladies in grand toilettes, and men with radiant faces, and you will have a fairly accurate idea of this very popular fête.

After the races the foot-passengers disperse and the people disembark from the junks. The sun not having yet set, everybody uses the rest of the afternoon in taking a little rest, or in enjoying the fresh air of the country. Some go to the monastery near the lake, others repose under the great trees which are round an old tomb.

The latter is the burying-place of an ancient and celebrated man of letters of the town, who, during his lifetime, had his last abode constructed in an admirable site on the banks of the water. Instead of the usual inscriptions which celebrate the virtues of the deceased, the man of letters caused to be graven on the stones of his tomb his own poems and those of his friends.

Here are two of the best-known lines of his:

“Behind the carpet of the cornflowers and under the shade of the pine trees,

I shall receive throughout all time the perfume of the incense which my children will bring to me in offering.”

I went with some friends to the monastery, where we were received in the most hospitable fashion. The Buddhist priests offered us first of all a cup of delicious tea, and afterwards invited us to dine with them. It was a dinner without meat—for the Buddhist priests do not eat meat—but an excellent dinner for all that. First of all because it was a change from what we were accustomed to, and then because, in spite of the fact that no meat is used, the cuisine of these priests fully deserves its reputation of exquisite delicacy. They prayed us to come again in a month to taste the Lichi fruits, for, said they, their garden possessed eighteen trees of the best kind, which they called “the eighteen young ladies.”

To depict to you the picturesque situation of this monastery, it will be sufficient for me to quote a passage from a celebrated poem, which is engraved on a rock behind the altar to Buddha:

“Whilst the sound of the bells draws itself out and seems to be lost in the green mist of the twilight,

The dreaming poet walks all alone amongst the ten thousand trees.”

As it is getting late, we have made up our minds to sleep at the monastery.

I may as well mention here that in China the monasteries are a kind of hotel. There is always a large number of rooms set aside for the reception of visitors. We took advantage of this, because at night-fall the gates of the city are locked, and accordingly we were locked out. We had no reason to regret this, because in the evening we were able to be present at the religious service of the Buddhists, and could convince ourselves that once they have finished with their religious duties these monks are quite ordinary mortals, very gay, fond of laughter and amusement. We made verses together, as we sat drinking rice-wine, and we all came to the conclusion that these priests have nothing in common with their Puritan colleagues in Europe.

In our conversation, as well as in the poems we composed, not an allusion was made to religious or even philosophical subjects. Nothing was written or spoken about but the moon, flowers, and the beauties of Nature. These good people understood that there is nothing more detestable than “to talk shop.”

One of my friends asked one of these priests how he could live without any family, the Buddhist priests not being allowed to marry. The priest answered him in verse, saying:

“I do not wish the mud to soil the leaves of the lotus.

I have a very sharp knife to cut the threads of the nenuphar with.”

In short, they were all very gay, and our conversation lasted after this fashion until break of day. A most harmless and comme il faut debauch.

And that evening, seated on his lotus-flower, with his bald head and his stereotyped smile, Buddha did not sulk.

CHAPTER III
THE FÊTE OF THE MOON

This fête is celebrated in the eighth month of the year. It lasts six days, beginning on the 10th and ending on the 15th, with the full moon. It is thought that on that night the moon is larger than at any other time in the year.

This fête is made the occasion of all kinds of amusements, and specially it is kept by sending to one’s friends all sorts of presents in the shape of the moon, as also by the exhibition of nick-nacks.

One buys a quantity of little statues, representing genii, immortals, Buddhas. All these celestials are arranged on the landings amongst the objects collected by the family, treasures which, imprisoned all the year round, are only produced on this solemn occasion. The centre of the exhibition is always filled by a large pagoda, which is illuminated, like the house itself, at every window.

Outside, fireworks are let off and crackers exploded. Indoors, music is played to cheer the reunion of friends and of the family. Mutual invitations are issued to come and admire the richness and the good taste of the different collections.

At midnight, on the 15th, everybody sits down in the courtyard to a great banquet, with which the fête is terminated. This banquet is specially given to await the descent of the goddess of the moon. The myth will have it, that on that day she leaves her celestial abode to come down and listen to the wishes of the mortals. Needless to say, that nobody ever yet saw the graceful inhabitant of our satellite; but it is difficult to drive out of the people’s minds traditions which have been handed down for centuries from father to son.

A story is, however, told of an old woman who was favoured one night with a visit from the Chinese Diana, who asked her what she wanted, and who promised to grant all that she could wish for. Dazzled by the splendour of the costume and the imposing beauty of the lady, the old woman stood speechless, and could not say a word. At last, encouraged by the kindly insistence of the queen of the moon, the old woman summoned up enough courage to carry her hand to her mouth, meaning thereby that she only wished to have enough to eat for the rest of her life.

The apparition made a sign of acquiescence, and remounted to heaven. The next morning the old woman was seen wearing a gigantic, full beard. The goddess had not understood her gesture.

The moon is the patroness of poetry. Autumn, moreover, the most beautiful of seasons, with its wealth of chrysanthemums and oleas of sweet perfume in flower, furnishes also subjects dear to the poets. This fête is accordingly more aristocratic and more literary than the others, which have little to offer but popular pleasures. Thus, to celebrate it, pretence is made of transforming the terrestrial abodes into so many crystal palaces to harmonise with the splendours which are believed to exist in the celestial regions.

I have said that the moon is the patroness of poetry. It is she, indeed, who, from the earliest ages, has at all times known how to inspire poets—now with sad, now with joyous songs. It is she who unites in common contemplation the looks and the thoughts of lovers separated by long distances from each other; it is she who consoles the unhappy despairing in their solitudes. The most intimate secrets of the heart are confided to her, the softest and sweetest wishes are formed before her transparent mirror. Who shall then be astonished if poetry cherish this kindly queen of the night?

Here are some verses dedicated to this star by our poets:

“Raising my glass to drink with the moon,

I notice that we are three—

The moon, my shadow, and myself.

The moonlight comes right up to my bed,

Covering the floor with a dazzling surface,

Which at first sight I take for ice;

Then, noticing that it is the moon,

I fall to thinking of my native land.”

The number of legends attaching to the moon is so large that it is impossible to relate them all. Some say that the goddess who inhabits the lunar palace is still unwedded. Others maintain that she is a tearful widow. The most original of these legends tells us that the goddess is the wife of a celebrated archer, of the reign of Han, named Haou-I. He had already shot down nine suns with his terrible bow, and was just going to fire at the tenth—the only one that remains to us—when the sun-god said to him, “Give me grace of this one, which I need for the light of the world. In return I will give you a magic draught which will give you the power to go and to dwell in the sun itself.” At the same time he told the archer the day and the hour on which he was to take the enchanted potion.

Haou-I committed the imprudence of confiding his secret to his wife, who, not willing to believe the truth of what he said, tried the draught forthwith. Immediately she grew light as a bird and flew away to the moon.

Is this not like reading Jules Verne, perfected, in the second century, for it is from that century that this legend dates.

Here is another myth, the translation of the poem of which I have given elsewhere. I consider it very graceful. It tells that Emperor Ming-Houang, of the Thang dynasty, had travelled in a dream to the moon. It was there that he learned a melody entitled “Dress of Rainbow and of Feathers.” This air was the cause of an insurrection, which nearly upset his throne. One of his officers, in love with a favourite who sang this celestial melody in perfection, revolted, and the Emperor could only preserve his throne by sacrificing the life of his favourite. So true it is that always and in all things one must seek the woman, even in the moon.

CHAPTER IV
THE FEAST OF LANTERNS

The Feast of Lanterns comes almost directly after that of the New Year. It may almost be said that one is the complement of the other, as the latter in date takes place from the tenth day to the fifteenth day of the first moon, and as the holidays of the New Year are prolonged from the twentieth day of the twelfth moon of the dying year to the twentieth day of the first moon of the new year.

During this month of holiday, all official business is suspended. The seals which represent the official signatures are locked up in their cases.

It is the use made, in incredible quantities, of all sorts of lanterns that gives its name and its originality to this feast. The Chinese are very fond of making these lanterns, and give them a luxury of form, and employ in their manufacture a variety of material which defy imagination. There is not on that day a single nook of the mighty Empire which is not thus lighted up. To carry out an illumination on such a scale, it will be readily understood that something more is needed than is seen elsewhere when lanterns are used for illuminations.

To get a more exact idea of the character of our illuminations, imagine one of your large toy-shops filled with transparent lanterns—horses, lions, sheep, elephants, soldiers, horsemen, parasols, flowers, grotesque figures, fantastic animals, &c. All the imitations of living things are associated with all the varieties of fancy to transform light silk or translucid paper into multi-coloured lanterns, now simple, now double. These latter turn round and round, driven by the motion of the heated air, and display the series of pictures with which they are filled. There is not a thing in nature, or out of it, that does not on that day take shape of lantern.

A gigantic lantern representing a dragon is carried about in the public places to the sound of music. This is composed of a framework of wicker covered with transparent stuff, on which the dragon’s scales are painted. It is mounted on staves, which are held by the bearers. Anybody can get the procession to stop before his house, or he can have it enter his courtyard if he wants a private representation. In this case, all he has to do is to let off a certain number of crackers as the procession passes his house, so as to let the bearers know that they have to stop. After the performance, which consists in making the dragon fly about in every direction, cake and wine are offered to the musicians and to the bearers, but never money, for the procession is always composed of people belonging to the highest classes of society, who do this for their pleasure. The European torchlight procession gives but a very feeble idea of our dragon walk.

When a marriage takes place in a family, the relations of the bride send her on her wedding-day a lantern representing a divinity holding a child in his hand. If in the second year the wife has not had a child, another lantern is sent her representing an orange; the word orange in Chinese is synonymous to the words “make haste.” The lantern thus constitutes a kind of punning reminder to her of her duty. Lanterns are also sent from the local temples to any house in the parish in which either a recent marriage, or a birth, or a literary success has taken place.

The subjects of these lanterns differ according to circumstances; the bearers are always accompanied by an orchestra. One sees a large lantern, on which are written enigmas, riddles, and puzzles, in almost every street. The passers-by are supposed to try their skill at guessing these puzzles, and those who succeed get as a reward some letter-paper, or some brushes, ink, fireworks, sweets, &c. When the problem propounded is some clever jeu de mots, or a comic answer is given, you can hear the whole street ringing with shouts of healthy laughter.

Formerly under the dynasty of the Hans, it was forbidden to be out in the streets of nights except during these feasts. On these occasions the bridge gates of the city remained wide open, and the padlocks of the bridge railings were unlocked all night.

Poetry has celebrated these nights of popular gaiety:

“The trees on fire and the flowers in silver form bouquets on every side,

And the iron padlocks no longer exist on the starlit bridges.

A fine dust pursues on all the roads the perfumed feet of the horses;

And the moon shining brilliantly, accompanies the walkers;

These for the most part belong to the radiant youth,

Who sing so joyously that one fancies one hears the celebrated melody of Lo-Mei-Hoa, or the fall of the petals of the plum-tree.

This night it is not forbidden to walk abroad,

Therefore let the waters flow slowly and without undue haste.”

Another poem says:

“Two phœnixes come down from heaven with their triumphal chariot.

Six dragons rise from the bottom of the sea bearing a mountain on their backs.”

Does not this remind you of the “Isoline” of Catulle Mendes?

Let me quote a few more lines:

“What charitable hand has scattered all these lotus seeds,

Which at one and the same time flower in every corner of the city?”

All this literature will show what a brilliant fête it is.

There are, of course, besides, family meetings, parties, where wine and poetry help to bring the solemnity to its end indoors; while, in the streets, the pleasures of the joyous crowd are prolonged until the morning.

Lanterns have this advantage over gas and electricity, that they give a softer light and present more of that variety and irregularity with which life loves to surround itself, so as to escape as much as possible from the monotony and uniformity of ordinary existence. They lend themselves more readily to poetry, and realise in a small way what large illuminations do in a greater.

The members of the constituted bodies also take part in the illuminations. When officials go out at night, they are always accompanied by lanterns, on which are written in red the name and titles of the dignitary. On the evening of the feast, these lanterns decorate the house of the functionary, like so many visiting cards, welcoming the public.

In conclusion, let it be said that the little folk, without whom there is no real pleasure, have also their rôles to play and their part to take in the general gaiety. Fruits are cut up for them, especially oranges, and the children light these up with a little candle, and carry their make-shift lanterns round the streets. Some of these fruit-lanterns are wonderfully and beautifully carved and decorated.

Everything, in one word, is lighted up; so that could one take on that night a bird’s-eye view of China from the car of some balloon, she would show like a sky starred with thousands and millions of lanterns, and the dazzled aeronaut would be forced to admit, as he looked down on the last day of the feast of the New Year, that in China, at least, we never have a gloomy New Year’s Day.

CHAPTER V
THE FEAST OF THE TWO STARS

The two stars, called Niou-Lang, the Shepherd, and Tsi-Nu, the Weaver, are situated, the first on the eastern shore of the Milky Way—the Tien-Ho, as we call it, or River of Heaven—and the other on the western shore. According to ancient astronomical observations they only meet once a year, and this meeting is supposed to take place in the night of the seventh day of the seventh moon.

Legend pretends that the Shepherd was married to the Weaving Woman, and that to punish them for some fault committed in the celestial regions—a fault analogous to that of Adam and Eve—the sovereign of the skies separated them eternally. Once only in the year did he allow them to see each other for an instant by crossing the stream of water which, during the rest of the year, put an insurmountable barrier between their loves. On that day the magpies, carrying straw in their beaks, go and build a bridge over the river, which enables the lovers to cross over dry-footed. I will add that on that day the magpies moult. A quantity of other legends naturally have been grafted on to this one. Thus it is said that the rain which falls on the eve of this feast cleans the chariot of heaven; whilst if it rains on the day itself, it is said that that is the tears of joy of the two lovers; if on the morrow, it is their tears of sorrow at their fresh separation. The feasts celebrated on this occasion vary slightly according to the locality. The object of some of the celebrations is to beg of the Weaving Woman for skill at the loom; others take advantage of the fact that on the day of their reunion the two stars are more friendly disposed, and implore their pity.

A table is usually spread on these occasions on the balcony of the pavilion, and laid with fruits, flowers, wine, candles, and incense. Low prayers are whispered. Those who pray are young women whose husbands are absent. Those who wish to become skilful workwomen close a spider up in a box. When they open the box on the morrow they can tell from the appearance of the web, which the spider has spun in the meanwhile, whether the Weaving Woman has heard their prayers or not. If the web is neat and regular they may hope for skill also.

Formerly, under the reign of the Thangs, this anniversary was celebrated with considerable splendour in the palace of the Emperor. It is said that towers about 1000 feet in height—about that of the Eiffel Tower—were constructed of silk for the occasion, and that on these towers the favourites of the Emperor made music and song in honour of celestial loves. Girls vied with one another who should soonest thread, by the light of the moon, needles with nine eyelets, and the winner was proclaimed the most skilful of all.

A poem says:

“It is easier to thread needles by moonlight than to hold a thread straight while the wind is blowing.”

There has been very much poetry written about this feast. Some of the poems are in praise of the skill of the Weaving Woman; others lament her too ephemeral happiness; but the most numerous are those in which the luckless in love envy the lot of the lovers untied in heaven, and pray them to favour them, so that they also may have a time of meeting, however short. The most celebrated of these poems is one written by a sceptical philosopher, who says:

“They are immortals, and yet they fear the water.

I am inclined to doubt that they are very skilful people.”

In short, this feast is liked chiefly as a pleasant holiday, and as affording a theme for the poets.

In the seventh moon the great heats have passed away, and advantage is taken of the soft zephyr and the purity of the sky, which is generally to be noticed at this season of the year, to sit out on the balcony of the house, and to enjoy the cool air whilst drinking rice-wine. The hypothesis of these two invisible beings inhabiting the two stars is rather a pretext than a belief, I am inclined to think. Long separations, always so sad, and the meeting again, which is all the more delightful because it is so unfrequent, are symbolised in this legend. The two stars meeting across the Milky Way in a clear sky, under the burning and envious gaze of the other stars, and the light of the crescent-moon, form a graceful picture, which, by a pretty celestial dream, charms our spirit, greedy as it always is of the ideal, and glad to escape for a while from the truer but often more disappointing images of worldly realities.

CHAPTER VI
THE FEAST OF FLOWERS

This feast falls on the fifteenth day of the second moon, but is, in practice, prolonged until the end of spring. It is also called “the feast of mild warmth.” This is the best season of the year, the mildest and the most charming. The trees, almost all in bloom at that time, alternating with the weeping willows, drooping down their long branches laden with green leaves, form, together with the picturesque pavilions, perspectives which over and over again have inspired the poet’s song. There is not a private garden in the land which is not then transformed into a horticultural exhibition. Poles of different colours are set up, ornamented with flags and laden with little bells, and in the middle all sorts of games are played, amongst others the game of butterflies. This game is unknown in Europe, and, therefore, merits a description here. Butterflies are caught, and a hair is attached to them; this hair is weighted with a scrap of paper, to prevent them from flying away out of reach, and then they are pursued by the women armed with their fans.

Other families go out into the country to pick flowers, to run in the fields, and to play the game we call the “lawn game.” We have had emperors who were poets, and who, on that day, used to distribute verses composed by them on different kinds of plants. It was on this occasion that the Minister of Agriculture used to present to the Sovereign seeds of every plant under cultivation in his empire. In private houses, this is the day chosen for making rice-wine. The people of Su-Tcheang march out on this day in solemn procession, to the sound of music, to the rice-fields, amidst crowds of spectators. This fête used to be very brilliant under the dynasty of the Thangs, emperors who delighted in simple pleasures in the midst of flowers. One of them used to give his favourites pieces of silk, having the colours of the spring flowers, on this feast. The silks were afterwards made into light spring dresses.

One year, when the feast fell in the midst of late winter weather, the Emperor had a glass house constructed, and had all the plants brought in to develop in the heat, and to the sound of the drum. This is the origin of glass houses.

One of our novelists relates that one of the favourites of the Emperor fell in love with a young man of letters who lived in the capital, and whose garden was traversed by a brook which flowed out of the imperial park. The young woman being shut up in the palace, jealously watched, had no means of corresponding with him whom she loved. But love will always suggest ways and means, and it came to her to write a poem on the petal of a peony and to confide it to the stream. The young man of letters was lucky enough to find the peony-petal, and thus learned that in spite of the separation he was still loved. This feeling gave him so much courage that he set to work with great diligence and an extraordinary ardour, so that he was soon able to pass all his examinations, and to become a celebrated statesman. In reward of numerous services, he asked the Emperor to accord him the hand of the young woman, a request which his sovereign was unable to refuse. Thus a simple flower gave a great minister to the empire, and united two beings who thought themselves for ever separated.

CHAPTER VII
NEW YEAR’S DAY

This is the Feast of the Three Beginnings—that of the year, the months, and the days.

From break of day, which is saluted in every house with formidable detonations of crackers, all the functionaries of the capital betake themselves to the Imperial Temple to present their respective congratulations to the Sovereign in person before the tablet which bears the name of His Majesty. This duty accomplished, they present their homages in order to the temples of Heaven, of Confucius, of the God of Literature, and of the God of War. After this they pay calls to each other, an exchange of courtesies which lasts for four or five days.

On entering a relation’s house, it is the rule, first of all, to salute the tablets which represent the ancestors. If the visitors are newly married, besides tea and cakes, a bag of oranges and water-melon seeds is offered to them. Both these signify that it is hoped they may be blessed with a large family.

Parties are given every day in turn at the different houses of friends, and these are made the occasion for games of every description. At the same time presents are distributed amongst the servants of one’s friends and relations, whilst to the children of one’s acquaintance one gives ingots of silver or pieces of silver coin wrapped up in red paper, or coins threaded on red strings, which are called lucky coins. I may mention here, since I am speaking about children, a striking peculiarity, which is specially noticeable in the case of very young children; that is, that in China we don’t count people’s ages by the number of their days, but from year to year. Thus a child born on the 31st of December is two years on the evening of the next day, that is, on January 1st of the following year.

The fourth day of the first moon is the Feast of the God of Wealth and of Happiness. All the drawing-rooms are then lighted up in honour of these divinities, which are represented either by images or by a simple piece of writing on paper.

The seventh day is consecrated to the Feast of Man, and the ninth to that of God, and so on; for the feasts almost daily follow in quick succession up to the end of the Feast of Lanterns.

During this time all that the people think about is to organise pleasures, and to give themselves up to enjoyment. Debts have all been paid off at the end of the old year, and the public and private holiday, which is general, gives all the liberty needed. The season of the year is not favourable to travelling, and so all that remains for pastimes are the indoor games which are best adapted for killing time. There is a great deal of playing in China at the time of year under consideration. Games are played with cards, with dominoes, with dice, and with the twelve beasts. There is also a more instructive game, which represents the steps of official promotion. I need hardly say that music is not wanting at these fêtes.

Many families do not eat meat on New Year’s Day. According to Lie-Tseu, this custom originated as follows:

“‘The people of Han-Tang,’ says this author, ‘had offered a pigeon as a New Year’s gift to a certain philosopher. He accepted the present, and giving wing to the bird, said, “All things should live happily on this day.”’”

This is a pretty tale with a delicate sentiment. Superstition is not, however, wanting. With regard to the crackers which one might suppose are only let off for fun, or in invitation to noisy revelry, it appears that a good many people fancy that they serve to frighten off evil spirits, who would never dare to knock at doors behind which such terrible explosions are taking place.

But there is more than this. Many people paint a charm on their doors, or draw a cock, or two guardians, which are thought to be capable of swallowing whole any demon who might take it into his head to show himself.

The astronomical works published under the dynasty of the Han family state that one can judge from the wind that is blowing at daybreak on New Year’s Day what kind of weather one is going to have throughout the ensuing year. Thus a south wind means general dryness, a south-westerly wind partial drought, and so on. An easterly wind on New Year’s Day morning means war, a north-westerly wind a good harvest, a north wind a moderate harvest. A north-easterly wind indicates a peaceful year, wind from the west warns one of coming floods, and from south-east of epidemics.

In the same way, the first word that one writes on New Year’s Day gives its character to the whole year, good or bad. So, to make sure, people always begin their letters on that day with such words as, Happiness, Wealth, Felicity, Long-Life, and so on.

This manner of ensuring a happy New Year has inspired a woman philosopher with the four following lines:

“Everybody to-day dips the brush into ink,

To write the words Happiness, Wealth, Felicity.

If I might give wise advice to the ambitious,

It is to bear the life that is laid upon us, and not to ask for things which Providence cannot possibly accord to all.”

I may add, that in spite of this excellent advice everybody continues to ask for what is unobtainable—the pauper for a little wealth, the rich man for more than he can have.

Fables which take something from superstition know how to mingle with it a certain amount of wisdom. I will give in proof the following story:—

“A poor man of letters, who had not the wherewithal to celebrate the change of the year, was fast asleep. In China, as elsewhere, it is true that he who sleeps dines. In the cottage where he lived there was neither fire, nor food, nor wine, nor light, nor pleasure in any form.

“Meanwhile his neighbours were celebrating the feast with joyous revelry; the feast that was so sad for the solitary man that we are speaking about.

“All of a sudden, at about midnight, somebody knocked at his door.

“‘Who is there?’ asked the man of letters, disagreeably wakened just at the moment when he was dreaming about victuals, drink, and luxurious apartments.

“‘It’s I, the God of Wealth.’

“‘I am sorry to say that I cannot receive you.’

“‘And why so?’

“‘Because I have no luck.’

“In spite of the insisting of the God of Wealth, the poor man absolutely refused to open the door.

“A few moments later another knock was heard at the door.

“‘Who are you?’ cried the sleeper, again awakened from his dreams.

“‘’Tis I, the God of Luck.’

“The man of letters sprang out of bed, and received the visitor with open arms in the dark cabin. The excellent god then wrote something with the tip of his finger on the poor man’s forehead and then disappeared.

“The cottager had hardly time to get back to bed when the God of Wealth again announced himself.

“This time, he was received in the most cordial manner, and at once placed in the poor man’s hand treasures of great value. He then asked the poor man to tell him why, after having at first refused to receive him, he now gave him so cordial a reception.

“‘Oh, it’s simple enough. Now I have got luck, which I hadn’t a short while ago. I knew that you always follow the God of Luck, and so it was him that I waited for.’”

It is evident that this means that without luck, fortune itself is worth nothing.

The God of Wealth, whose good works we have just related, is nowhere more fêted than in the town of Canton. Every evening, after the shops are closed, candles are lighted and incense is burned before his altars, which are fitted in niches on the outside of the shops. The whole town is illuminated and perfumed. This is an universal adoration to which no inhabitant of the Chinese empire gives himself up more fervently than the Cantonese, who are the most commercial of the Chinese. Now, the God of Wealth is also the God of Commerce, and that is as it should be, for commerce is money after all; at least, money is the object of trade and of traders. Plutus is the complement of Mercury.

The spring equinox, which we call the beginning of spring, often falls on the first days of the new year. Then, there is a great fête.

A veritable procession is organised in each town. At the head come the prefects and sub-prefects, and all the members of their official staff in gala uniform. Each holds in his hand a spray of artificial flowers, representing the peony, the flower of the spring. They ride in their open sedan-chairs, escorted with music and soldiers. By their side are carried tablets, on which are written their titles and the services they have rendered.

This is the procession of the spring ox.

Behind the official procession is carried the gigantic statue of an ox, made of clay, which is plastered over with papers of many colours. Each colour stands for some atmospheric change—fine weather, drought, change, and so on.

Behind this statue comes the real ox, all gay with ribbons and rosettes. A statuette is stuck up on its back, which represents the coming year. Its dress also portends the weather that is going to be prevalent throughout the coming year. If it has shoes on its feet, that means that the year will be a dry one; if it has clogs, that the year will be rainy. A clog on one foot and a shoe on the other, mean that the year will be a temperate one.

The whole procession makes its way towards the temple of the God of Agriculture, where the sacrifices take place. The ox is slaughtered and its flesh is distributed amongst the crowd.

Thus in the extreme East the “spring ox” is being led in procession at about the same time that the Parisians are leading round their Carnival “fat ox.” The two ceremonies are evidently agricultural feasts, such as formerly were celebrated in Egypt with the ox Apis. Man is the same everywhere; his customs, languages, and institutions are different, but those are only differences of form, the substance is everywhere the same.

CHAPTER VIII
THE END OF THE YEAR

The holidays begin ten days before the end of the year, so that everybody may have time to prepare for this great solemnity. For in China there are no legal holidays, and busy people only get a rest during the three great feasts of the Dragon, the Moon, and the change of the Year. There are five days holiday during each of the first two feasts, and thirty days during the last.

It is on these dates that bills usually fall due, and when they must be paid.

The last feast that we have spoken about includes several religious ceremonies. These consist in offering banquets to each one of the gods in thanksgiving for the good things he has accorded during the year that has passed. On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth moon a touching ceremony is performed in the richest and the poorest houses alike. It is that of the adieu addressed to the household god and the reception given to the new-comer. It appears that this god only holds his tutelary office during one year, and has then to make place for a successor.

The altar of this god is always placed in the kitchen; candles are lighted before him every day, and incense is burned. At night a night-lamp, which is called the fire of long life, burns before his altar.

On the evening of the twenty-fourth, a grand dinner, with cakes of the most varied descriptions, and fruits of every sort, is spread out before this altar for the guests to partake of.

After having poured out the wine of libation and let off the crackers, without which no fête is complete in China, oats and corn are thrown on the roof of the house for the horses of the god to feed upon, and it is at that moment that he is supposed to take his departure.

The table is then cleared, and a fresh repast is laid out before the altar for the refreshment and welcome of the new-comer. His name is at once inscribed in the place of that of his predecessor, or it is the images of himself and his wife that are placed in the stead of those of the gods of the previous year.

This is our Christmas Day, after a fashion. It is this day that the children look forward to, in the expectation of fruits and sweets.

Preserves are made of the dishes that are left over from these two repasts, and these sometimes last over the whole of the first month of the new year. The richer a family is, the more of these preserves will it make. Parties and fêtes follow each other in unbroken succession.

On the last day a large pot of rice is put out of doors. The rice is garnished with cypress leaves, on which imitation ingots of gold and silver are placed. These are in paper, which is covered with lettering, meaning long life, honour, health, happiness, and so on, cut out in red paper. On the rice are heaped various kinds of fruit, symbolic of prosperity.

This rice remains standing on a table in the open air until midnight. It is called the “rice of the old year.” At midnight it is replaced by another pot of rice, garnished in the same way. This is the rice of the new year, and it is allowed to stand in position for two or three days. A lucky day is then chosen in the calendar, and on this day the rice is removed and eaten.

It is unnecessary to say that the same sacrifices take place every day before the tablets of the ancestors, who are never or on any occasion forgotten.

Formerly a number of superstitious customs were observed. According to an old handbook of hygiene, a man had to lie down secretly by the side of the family well on the New Year’s Eve, holding in his hand a flowering branch of the pepper tree, and, when midnight struck, to throw this branch into the well, if the family wanted to have pure and microbeless water to drink during the ensuing year.

Under the reign of the dynasty of the Han family, a procession of one hundred and twenty children, aged from ten to twelve years, and dressed in grey clothes with red hats, used to march through the streets, each child being armed with a drum, with the beating of which he was supposed to drive away all evil spirits.

This procession was much more imposing under the Shungs in the sixth century. The military took part in it, dressed in bright uniforms, and carrying gilt lances and the banners of the dragon. These marched at the head of the procession, all more or less hideously masked. Meanwhile, out in the country the farmers used to form a torchlight procession, with torches stuck in the end of long bamboos, and went running through all their fields, begging the gods for a good rice-harvest and an abundance of silkworms. In some provinces children used to run about the streets, saying that they had their stock of intelligence for sale, and, of course, found none to buy of them. All these things have now been done away with. Only the religious ceremonies, of which I have spoken above, remain in force to-day, as well as the vigils for seeing the new year in. I do not speak of certain eccentric customs, which only form exceptions to the general habit. Thus, for instance, the poets will sometimes place their works on an altar in their house and make sacrifices before them. Others melt their gold and pour it into water, predicting the future from the curious shapes of the metal as it cools.

There is a literary piece by Han-Wong-Koung, an adieu to the God of Wretchedness, which is very much read in China during the feast of the end of the year. It is too long to be quoted here, but can be read by all with great satisfaction. It gives excellent advice to the poor, and teaches them how to fight against the demon of poverty. Some read it to learn how to remain happy, others how to console themselves for their wretchedness and how to get out of it.

CHAPTER IX
PROCESSIONS

In China the Taoists alone have religious processions, which is logical enough, as it is their custom to represent their gods in human figures. To mention only the principal ceremonies, I may allude to the procession of the god Tai-Tchang, of the god Tcheng-Houang, of the gods of epidemic diseases, and the goddesses who protect women in labour and little children.

Tai-Tchang is the god of the mountain of the same name, a function which he combines with that of seventh high judge in Hades, which has ten such judges.

The processions of Tai-Tchang take place during the third moon. The terrible figure is brought on the appointed day, surrounded by an imperial pomp. He deserves all these splendours, seeing that his title is that of sovereign of the mountain.

He is preceded by his colleagues, the other grand judges, his sons and godchildren, who are all reputed princes of his family. Each of these divinities has its special escort, with two large lanterns and a number of tablets, on which are inscribed the various titles of the god.

Next come the orchestra and the followers, all dressed in gala clothes. Some carry a vase full of flowers, others a smoking incense-bowl.

Besides these, the procession is followed by numbers of private individuals, carrying in their hands reduced models of the various instruments of torture—handcuffs, chains, hooks, &c. They hope by this means to draw down on their devoted heads the punishments which the god may be intending to inflict on those dear to them.

At Fou-Tcheou young girls also take part in this manifestation, but in the other cities women are forbidden to do so.

The procession takes its way to a vast building situated on the outskirts of the town, which is called the Prison of the Ghosts. There is such a prison near every city. The object of this visit is to release from their captivity the spiritual captives, so that during the Feast of the Dead they may be able to take part in their family celebrations, and perform the sacrifices which are expected of children to their ancestors.

The same procession is repeated on a smaller scale a few days later. This time its object is to bring back to their prison the ghost who had been temporarily released.

All along the way down which the procession passes, the faithful place before the door of their houses tables on which lighted candles and incense are burning, with flowers and fruits. Everybody comes out of the house to admire the immense march past, which is, moreover, a kind of walking exhibition, as the members of the different societies which take part in it, and which all belong to different trades, carry with them all the new productions of the year. The crowd covers at least from two to four kilomètres with its long moving column; for each god has his subalterns, and each of these subalterns has the right to a magnificent escort. Toy and sweet merchants profit by the occasion to display their wares in the streets, offering their goods to the children, who always take a very large share in festivities of this sort.

At Fou-Tcheou there is a peculiarity which is particularly interesting. The feast lasts two days, and the second day’s ceremony is an exact repetition of the first. However, on the second day an excursion is made out to the suburbs of the town, where Tai-Tchang’s mother-in-law is supposed to live, the god being brought as a respectful son-in-law to pay his respects to the good lady. Happy god, happy mother-in-law!

Legend relates that a young peasant-girl, daughter of a butcher, having witnessed the procession, went home and died immediately. During her short agony she told her parents that the god, only recently having become a widower, had noticed her great beauty, and had chosen her for his wife. She was an only daughter. Her death threw her family into despair, and in their rage her parents set out to revenge themselves on the god by setting fire to his temple. Tai-Tchang, however, taking human shape, appeared to them, and pacified them by saying that he had married their daughter, and that he owed her parents all the respect due from a good son-in-law. As a proof of this, he gave orders that a procession should take him every year to the house where the butcher’s wife, the mother of his divine companion and queen, lived. This shows that Tai-Tchang was a very sensible god, free from all aristocratic prejudices, and the very type of the cunning son-in-law, diplomatic enough to be able to soften down the anger of a mother-in-law, who in her rage had nearly become an incendiary.

In the summer, similar processions take place in honour of the gods of the epidemical diseases. We enjoy in China the sad privilege of owning five epidemics, which are local and indigenous. The figures of these gods, which never vary in appearance, can be seen in every street, and in every quarter there is a temple consecrated to these terrible divinities. The processions in their honour are, in consequence, daily occurrences, as each part of the town performs this ceremony in turn.

Although the procession is less imposing than the one that follows Tai-Tchang, it is nevertheless of great richness in the larger quarters. At the head come the five gods, each preceded by his subalterns. Behind them is carried an immense paper-boat, very skilfully made. It is mounted by the same gods, also in paper, who are placed in the cabin in the centre, whilst in another cabin are shut up paper-images of all the other demons. A man walks at the side of this boat, carrying on his shoulder, by means of a water-carrier’s pole, two buckets filled with débris of meats and offal of all kinds that are known to engender disease. These buckets are called ironically the buckets of happiness. The procession goes straight to the sea-shore, or to the banks of the river. Once there, the buckets are flung into the water, and the ship and its passengers are set fire to and burnt. The epidemics are then supposed to have been driven right out of the town. Mutual congratulation and a banquet terminate the fête. This is doubtless doubly symbolical. The buckets represent hygienic measures, the boat and its gods and demons figure the expulsion of all diseases, carried away by the river or destroyed by the fire.

Tcheng-Houang is the god of the provinces. His image may be seen everywhere, just as in Paris we see on the Place de la Concorde the statues of the chief citizens of France. The difference is that Tcheng-Houang is a real personage, not merely a personification. His ceremony is about identical with that of Tai-Tchang, except for the fact that Tchang-Houang has only right to the title of Governor.

The procession of the goddesses who protect women in labour and children usually takes place at the beginning of the year. The chair on which the statue is seated is all covered over with flowers, and as it is carried round by its bearers all the childless women of the town come crowding round imploring the divinity to give them children. The women take from the chair the first flower that comes into their fingers. If it is a red flower, they may hope to have a daughter; if it is a white flower, that means that they will have a boy. At the same time, the would-be mothers make vows to present the goddess with tapestry or clothes, or some decorative object, should she hear their prayer.

Rich people often invite the goddess into their houses as she passes their doors. Fireworks are then let off, and flowers are added to those on the chair. Then tea and cakes are handed round to the members of the procession, and after this the Chinese Lucina is allowed to resume her peregrinations, to visit other houses if she be so disposed. Throughout the month women crowd into the sanctuary of the goddess in an unceasing stream, some to fulfil their vows and bring their votive offerings, and others to implore, in their turns, the intervention of the Chinese Genitrix goddess.

CHAPTER X
A BUDDHIST SOLEMNITY

It is on the eighth day of the fourth moon—which corresponds to the month of May of the Gregorian calendar—that the great ceremony of the ordination of the Buddhist priests, also called the Feast of the Bath of Buddha, is performed.

On the eve of this day all the candidates gather together in the monastery in each town to prepare themselves for the solemnity of the morrow. At about eight o’clock in the evening a bell is rung. The priests are in their places, each on his knees before the statue of Buddha. First a prayer is recited, and then hymns are sung. After this the chief priest takes down off its lofty pedestal a little idol—a statuette of Buddha, places it on a platter of gold or of carved silver, and pours over it water out of another platter. During this bath, which lasts for half-an-hour, the priests are in adoration, and all the musical instruments are heard. Then comes a rather lengthy pause. At midnight the ceremony of consecration begins. The candidates who, either by vocation or by sudden impulse, have chosen this career, have to live two or three years in one of the monasteries, and after this, before being qualified to exercise the function of minister, must submit themselves to a somewhat painful formality.