“But though there are so many points of difference between these two great nations, there is one in which they resemble each other: they both claim great antiquity, and furnish long lists of kings, who, if their historians are to be believed, existed some thousands of years before the world began. China is, doubtless, the oldest of Asiatic countries, and indeed their records go back, with pretty good authority, some two thousand years before Christ, when Yee, an emperor nine feet high, is said to have lived, and during whose sway, we are told that it rained gold for three days in succession. The Chinese wall, which is by far the greatest existing monument of human labor, was built more than two hundred years before Christ; it is fifteen hundred miles long, and in some places forty feet high. The stones of which it is composed, are sufficient to construct a wall seven feet in height around the entire world. A work so immense, proves that China was a vast empire long before Rome had reached the zenith of its power and splendor.
“It is not my purpose to relate the history of China; but these details are necessary as a preface to my story. It is matter of history that China, as well as Japan, was visited by Catholic missionaries, soon after these countries were discovered in the fifteenth century. Some of them penetrated to Pekin, and a considerable number of persons here were converted to Christianity. To this day there are Catholic missionaries in China, though, when they have once entered the country, they are doomed to continue there during their lives. There are also several thousand Chinese converts to Christianity, in different parts of the empire.
“Well, I must go back to the year 1625, when a holy father of the church was travelling in the district of Shensy, which lies on the border of Tartary. Here, at the foot of a range of lofty mountains flows a beautiful stream called Hoei-ho, a branch of the Hoan-ho, and situated upon its banks is a great city called Singan-fou. As the priest was approaching this place, he saw a temple or pagoda dedicated to the Chinese god Fo. It looked, at a little distance, like a steeple of four stories, with arched openings in each story, and the whole terminated by a conical point. It was built upon a slope of the mountain, at the foot of which swept the bright waters of the Hoei-ho. Immediately around, the scenery was peculiarly wild, while farther off all was art and cultivation. The city lay at a little distance, and covered a large space of the valley; while every elevation around it was occupied with villas, many of them exceedingly beautiful, and all kept in a state of perfect neatness.
“The holy father proceeded to ponder upon the scene, and to reflect upon the vastness and antiquity of an empire, which had attained so great a population, and reached such a pitch of civilization, as, even among the hidden and remote borders of Tartary, to present such a scene as this. While he was thinking of these things, the skies grew dark, and in the space of a few minutes the whole scene was shadowed with a thick thunder cloud, and large drops of rain began to fall. He therefore hastened forward, and took refuge in the temple I have before mentioned. He found it to be filled with all manner of images, bearing no small resemblance, in this and other respects, to a Catholic church in his own country.
“There was no person in the temple, and as the storm continued with great fury, the priest remained there for shelter, until at last the shadows of night began to fall around. It was soon quite dark, and the father saw that it was his lot to spend the night in the place. He therefore groped about till he found a sort of niche in the wall, sheltered from the blast, and here he sat down. His mind wandered from one thing to another, until, at last, he fancied himself at home, in his own country! A priest is, after all, a man, and has his affections as well as others. The idea of being once more in the land of his fathers, so engrossed his mind, that, when at last he fell asleep, his dreams were tissues woven out of the fond remembrances of father and mother, of brother and sister; of merry childhood, and ardent youth. Holy father as he was, he dreamed—though in his sleep he crossed himself—of a maiden whom he loved in his youthful days, and whose lips, in a moment of madness, met his own. His dream went on—he wooed the maiden; he won her heart; he asked her hand, and she gave her consent.
“Alas, that man should be thus cheated!—that a priest, who had sworn to take no wife to his bosom; to devote all his affections to the church; a Jesuit, who had forsaken his home forever; a missionary, who wandered in hopeless exile in a remote region of the earth; one who even now was crouching beneath the dark arches of a heathen temple, unknowing and unknown—alas, that such a being could be deluded, even in a dream, by scenes so improbable, so impossible, as these! But so it is—the priest’s heart had now painted upon it a bright picture of other days—and he yielded to the spell. He dreamed that he was about to be married—and to one he loved. He fancied that he and his bride had entered the church; they were at the altar; the music was pealing through the aisles and arches—when—he awoke! He crossed himself again and muttered several prayers; for the holy man felt it to be sinful for one of his profession even to dream of the pleasures of the world.
“But while he sat there crossing himself, real music, such as he had heard in his native land, and such as was unknown in China, came full and sweet upon his ears. He now looked abroad; the tempest had ceased, but amid the intense darkness, he saw lights flashing in the glen, and a procession moving slowly towards the temple. The priest rubbed his eyes, and shook himself, and then took a cord that was tied round his body, and thrashed it across his back smartly, to assure himself that he was fully awake. Still the music, soft, but sweet, came swelling toward the temple; the lights advanced, beaming brighter and brighter, and the procession moved steadily onward, through the gloom. The father was in a maze. ‘Is it a reality,’ said he mournfully, ‘or a fiction of the Evil One to tempt me to some mortal sin?’ While he was pondering upon this fearful question, the procession entered the temple; they proceeded to an arched recess on one side of the space, where, by the light of the torches, the father saw the dim outline of a cross, cut in bass-relief on the rock of the wall.
“There were two youthful figures in the party; one a female in white, and closely veiled; the other a young man, attired in the fashion of other climes. They knelt before the altar: a man who seemed a priest, read from a book. The youthful pair joined hands; the whole party now knelt; a fervent prayer was uttered by the priest, and the responses came from the numerous attendants. The torches were waved in the air; sweet music was diffused, and then a strain of music so deep, so sweet, so lovely, was poured forth, that the priest who all this time sat in his niche, in a sort of waking trance, found the tears streaming down his cheeks. In spite of his holy vows, his prayers, his penance, his heart was melted with the thoughts of home, brought back by this scene so much like the marriage rites of his native land. ‘And yet,’ said he to himself, ‘it is all an illusion. Even in this lone land, where I am lost to my country and my kindred, the devil has pursued me, and now seeks to seduce me; to turn my heart from my high purpose of scattering the seeds of Christianity in this mighty empire, by presenting the fond images of my early days—and thus sickening my heart with this desolate banishment, this weary exile. But he shall not triumph; I will wrestle like Jacob, I will prevail like Israel!’
“Saying this, the holy father crossed himself, counted his beads, and ran over his prayers. While he was thus occupied, the wedding party crossed the temple, and proceeded to a place in front of a hideous image of Fo, at least forty feet in height. It had a resemblance to a man overgrown with flesh, and besotted with indulgence. Seen in the waning light of the torches, the face had a horrid expression of vulgar mirth and satisfaction. The father looked at it, and fancied that it was laughing at him; he imagined that he could see the twinkle of triumph in his swinish eye, and a curl of derision upon his thick and brutish lip.
“It was an awful moment—and the priest paused. The party, at least a hundred in number, bowed in the Eastern fashion before the gigantic image, and proceeded to perform the marriage ceremony in behalf of the youthful couple, according to the heathen rites of the temple. ‘Alas! alas!’ said the priest—‘they taunt me with this infamous spectacle; they perform the holy rites of Christian marriage to tempt me to abandon my duty; and now they perform the wicked incantations of their heathen faith, to drive me from the land in despair. And behold that fearful image standing there, looking me in the face, and shaking his sides at my confusion! But the artifice shall fail.’—