Dr. Wells Williams describes an interesting scene. "In the middle of the sixth moon lanterns are hung from the top of a pole placed on the highest part of the house. A single small lantern is deemed sufficient, but if the night be calm, a greater display is made by some householders, and especially in boats, by exhibiting coloured glass lamps arranged in various ways. The illumination of a city like Canton, when seen from a high spot, is made still more brilliant by the moving boats on the river. On one of these festivals at Canton, an almost total eclipse of the moon called out the entire population, each one carrying something with which to make a noise, kettles, pans, sticks, drums, gongs, guns, crackers, and what not to frighten away the dragon of the sky from his hideous feast. The advancing shadow gradually caused the myriads of lanterns to show more and more distinctly, and started a still increasing clamour, till the darkness and the noise were both at their climax. Silence gradually resumed its sway as the moon recovered her fulness." [294] On another page Dr. Williams tells us that "some clouds having on one occasion covered the sky, so that an eclipse could not be seen, the courtiers joyfully repaired to the emperor to felicitate him that Heaven, touched by his virtues, had spared him the pain of witnessing the 'eating of the sun.'" [295] The following passage from Doolittle's work on the Chinese is sufficiently interesting to be given without abridgment: "It is a part of the official duties of mandarins to 'save the sun and moon when eclipsed.' Prospective eclipses are never noticed in the Imperial Calendar, published originally at Peking, and republished in the provinces. The imperial astronomers at the capital, a considerable time previous to a visible eclipse, inform the Board of Rites of its month, day, and hour. These officers send this intelligence to the viceroys or governors of the eighteen provinces of the empire. These, in turn, communicate the information to all the principal subordinate officers in the provinces of the civil and the military grade. The officers make arrangements to save the moon or the sun at the appointed time. On the day of the eclipse, or on the day preceding it, some of them put up a written notice in or near their yamuns, for the information of the public.
"The Chinese generally have no rational idea of the cause of eclipses. The common explanation is that the sun or the moon has experienced some disaster. Some even affirm that the object eclipsed is being devoured by an immense ravenous monster. This is the most popular sentiment in Fuhchau in regard to the procuring cause of eclipses. All look upon the object eclipsed with wonder. Many are filled with apprehension and terror. Some of the common people, as well as mandarins generally, enter upon some course of action, the express object of which is to save the luminary from its dire calamity, or to rescue it from the jaws of its greedy enemy. Mandarins must act officially, and in virtue of their being officers of government. Neither they nor the people seem to regard the immense distance of the celestial object as at all interfering with the success of their efforts. The various obstacles which ought apparently to deter them from attempting to save the object eclipsed do not seem to have occurred to them at all, or, if they have occurred, do not appear to be sufficient to cause them to desist from prosecuting their laudable endeavours. The high mandarins procure the aid of priests of the Taoist sect at their yamuns. These place an incense censer and two large candlesticks for holding red candles or tapers on a table in the principal reception room of the mandarin, or in the open space in front of it under the open heavens.
"At the commencement of the eclipse the tapers are lighted, and soon after the mandarin enters, dressed in his official robes. Taking some sticks of lighted incense in both hands, he makes his obeisance before or facing the table, raising and depressing the incense two or three times, according to the established fashion, before it is placed in the censer. Or sometimes the incense is lighted and put in the censer by one of the priests employed. The officer proceeds to perform the high ceremony of kneeling down three times, and knocking his head on the ground nine times. After this he rises from his knees. Large gongs and drums near by are now beaten as loudly as possible. The priests begin to march slowly around the tables, reciting formulas, etc., which marching they keep up, with more or less intermissions, until the eclipse has passed off.
"A uniform result always follows these official efforts to save the sun and the moon. They are invariably successful. There is not a single instance recorded in the annals of the empire when the measures prescribed in instructions from the emperor's astronomers at Peking, and correctly carried out in the provinces by the mandarins, have not resulted in a complete rescue of the object eclipsed. Doubtless the vast majority of the common people in China believe that the burning of tapers and incense, the prostration of the mandarins, the beating of the gongs and drums, and the recitations on the part of the priests, are signally efficacious in driving away the voracious monster. They observe that the sun or the moon does not seem to be permanently injured by the attacks of its celestial enemy, although a half or nearly the whole appeared to have been swallowed up. This happy result is doubtless viewed with much complacency by the parties engaged to bring it about. The lower classes generally leave the saving of the sun or the moon, when eclipsed, to their mandarins, as it is a part of their official business. Some of the people occasionally beat in their houses a winnowing instrument, made of bamboo splints, on the occasion of an eclipse. This gives out a loud noise. Some venture to assert that the din of this instrument penetrates the clouds as high as the very temple of Heaven itself! The sailors connected with junks at this place, on the recurrence of a lunar eclipse, always contribute their aid to rescue the moon by beating their gongs in a most deafening manner.
"Without doubt, most of the mandarins understand the real occasion of eclipses, or, at least, they have the sense to perceive that nothing which they can do will have any effect upon the object eclipsed, or the cause which produces the phenomenon; but they have no optional course in regard to the matter. They must comply with established custom, and with the understood will of their superiors. The imperial astronomers, having been taught the principles of astronomy and the causes which produce eclipses by the Roman Catholic missionaries a long while since, of course know that the common sentiments on the subject are as absurd as the common customs relating to it are useless. But the emperor and his cabinet cling to ancient practices, notwithstanding the clearest evidences of their false and irrational character." [296]
Mr. Herbert Giles accounts for this Chinese obtuseness, or, as some would have it, opacity, in much the same way. Under the head of Natural Phenomena, he writes: "It is a question of more than ordinary interest to those who regard the Chinese people as a worthy object of study, What are the speculations of the working and uneducated classes concerning such natural phenomena as it is quite impossible for them to ignore? Their theory of eclipses is well known, foreign ears being periodically stunned by the gonging of an excited crowd of natives, who are endeavouring with hideous noises to prevent some imaginary dog of colossal proportions from banqueting, as the case may be, upon the sun or moon. At such laughable exhibitions of native ignorance it will be observed there is always a fair sprinkling of well-to-do, educated persons, who not only ought to know better themselves, but should be making some effort to enlighten their less fortunate countrymen instead of joining in the din. Such a hold, however, has superstition on the minds of the best informed in a Chinese community, that under the influence of any real or supposed danger, philosophy and Confucius are scattered to the four winds of heaven, and the proudest disciple of the master proves himself after all but a man." [297] No doubt Mr. Doolittle and Mr. Giles are both right: custom and superstition form a twisted rope which pinions the popular mind. But there is yet another strand to be mentioned which makes the bond a threefold cord which it will take some time to break. Prescriptive right requires that the official or cultured class in China, answering to the clerical caste elsewhere, should keep the other classes in ignorance; because, if science and religion are fellow-helpers, science and superstition can never dwell together, and the downfall of superstition in China would be the destruction of imperial despotism and magisterial tyranny. "Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth. But this Paul says that they be no gods, which are made with hands: so that our craft is in danger to be set at nought. Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" The mandarins know why they encourage the mechanics and merchants to save the moon.
We once met a good story in reading one of Jean Astruc's medical works. "Theodore de Henry, of Paris, coming one time into the church of St. Dionis, he fell prostrate at the foot of the statue of Charles the Eighth, as in a sudden fit of devotion. When being told by one of the monks that was not the image of any saint, he replied, he was not ignorant of that, but was willing to pay a grateful acknowledgment to the memory of that prince who had brought the Morbus Gallicus into France, by which he had made his own fortune." Herein lies the secret of half of the hypocrisy of the world. Thank God! the world moves; and the millennium of truth is at hand.
The literature of China is, happily, not all linsey-woolsey. The following sample is of the finest silk, worthy to adorn the purest saint.
"MING TI of the HOUSE of WEI.
"Reigned 227-239 A.D.