The San Francisco
Bulletin of the 16th September, has a description of the opening of the annual religious celebrations of the Chinese inhabitants of that city.
It say:
‘
The
Chinese are having a great time in their temple, on Sacrament street, just now. Evidently the festival is of a religious character, though whether the proceeds are to be devoted to canceling a mortgage on their church, or to sending out pagan missionaries to win over Christian believers to Buddhism, is more than inquidtiveness itself has been able to ascertain.
The dignitaries of their temple are not at all reticent, but display a charming readiness to indulge in a conversation with visitors, to which the only drawback is that neither understands the other's language.
However, they then selves know what the celebration means and is intended for, and they being the principal parties concerned, no others have the right to complain.
’
The first thing which strickes the visitor on entering the vestibule of their sanctuary is a most ancient and fish like smell, and if he approaches the altar he will discover that the breath of the gods smells strangely of stale salmon.
Evidently their drink is not nectar, neither is it possible that their victual is ambrosia.
The first object of
Chinese adoration that meets the eye is a high and hilarious god, standing some seven or eight feet in his stockings, and flourishing a cigar in his left hand, like a Montgomery street swell.
The attitude of this is not very graceful, while his legs, widely spread apart, and the air with which he braces back against the wall, suggest that he is under the influence of the rosy.
Altogether he has a convivial look about him highly cheerful to behold, and the effect is heightened by two home with serrated edges which sprout gaily behind his ears.
His belly is modeled like a bass drum, but so nicely adjusted as not to seriously interfere with the even tenor of his whole contour.
Passing on and ascending a narrow and fishy staircase, we find a balcony, gay with flags and lanterns, and illuminated with scrolls written in sinuous characters, probably pregnant with the wisdom of the immortal Kung-fu-Tse, whom the Latins named Confucius.
We may very well conclude that the books which lie open — but shut so far as our understanding is concerned — before us are the
Solide Declarito and the
Concordia Formula of their peculiar church.
Here the sound of music is loud — reckless disciples play crashing anvil choruses upon immense gongs, while milder mannered musicians keep up a rattling accompaniment on kettle-drums, blended with a symphony of shrill notes from the lips of cracked fifes.
The gods stand it marvelously well, however, and so does the temple, though a much less noise brought down the walls of
Jericho.
In the temple the gods and worshippers are so numerous that one calls them no longer John, but . You stumble ever a little god on the floor, or precipitate your head into the stomach of a big one braced against the altar.
The big ones number two, and face each other in a Gog and Magog style.
In height they are Anaks, each standing a good eight feet above the level of the floor, without counting in a slight wrinkle in the back, which would give them a few inches more were it ironed out. Each has one foot perched on a suppositious rock while the other rests on a paper tiger — they seem to have been bucking against the tiger all the night through.
One holds a golden apple in his band, plucked from no one knows what
Hesperides; the other grasps a golden wreath.
They are spangled like harlequin, and bearded and moustached like bogus barons.
A chronic lassitude rests on their features, probably occasioned by having been up all night.
Before them is spread either a late breakfast or an early lunch, but they seem in no hurry to attack it. Undoubtedly they feel safe in the assurance that no one else will eat it. Ranged around the wall, in convenient little sentry boxes, stand pudgy little gods, with splay feet.
These be the common "Josses" of the concern.
One of them is habited like a Christian martyr, and has the dolorous look of one condemned to be burned.
The apprehension seems not entirely groundless, as a number of torches are lighted close to his feet.
Should they burn on, the spectacle would probably be furnished of a baked tomato.
The worshippers in the purlieus of the temple are not very devout.
They loaf around and take all sorts of liberties with their gods, even to the occasional smooching of a tom cod from their breakfast table.
There are dowagers with
head dresses which tower up in crinigerous Babels, and damsels with eyes more clam shell than almond shell shaped.
There are male Chinamen having the look of Chimpanzees, and others dandified enough in appearances to stand as lay figures in barbers' windows.
Altogether, the picture is a motley one, and well worth seeing; but curious visitors should be vaccinated before entering the synagogues, and carry smelling salts with them.
Were there time in this connection to indulge in speculation and reflection concerning this curios people, who have moved their temples and gods into our midst and sat down among us, but of whom we really know so little, there were ample food for it. How long will they maintain their idolatrous worship in the full blaze of the light which a Christian community sheds?
Or is it unfair to call them idolaters when these images which they make unto themselves are not made "in the shape of anything in the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth?" Will ever an looniest come along and send these paper deities flying higher than a kite?
