One year ago on Round and Square (31 October 2011)—Middles: Middle of Nowhere
Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Rural Religion in Early China."
Click here for the introduction to "La Pensée Cyclique" the "umbrella topic for this series.
Click here for other posts in Round and Square's "Rural Religion in China" series:
Rural 17 Rural 18 Rural 19 Rural 20 Rural 21 Rural 22 Rural 23 Rural 24
Rural 25 Rural 26 Rural 27 Rural 28 Rural 29 Rural 30 Rural 31 Rural 32
Rural 33
Herdboy and Weaving Maiden
Could there be a better picture in Chinese mythology of Granet’s cyclical theme than the legend of the herdboy and the weaving maiden? Society is divided in half by gender, and that is reinforced by the necessities of labor, which keep the two sexes apart for much of the year (in the mythical case, for 364 days). Divided work lies at the very core of early society and early thought. The apportioning of tasks may well have been a necessity of human—and now divine—labor, but it was surely more than that, as well. It was the fundamental starting point for human society itself.
The legend of the Weaving Maiden was born of a like transposition. Emblem
of young peasant women in times gone by, the Weaving Maiden is a
constellation which all through the year leads a life of lonely work; not far from
it but also alone, another constellation, the Cowherd, labors in the heavenly
fields: it was necessary everywhere for the sexes to remain apart and for their
tasks to be apportioned.[1]
C'est d'une transposition du même ordre qu'est née la légende de la
Tisserande. Emblème des jeunes paysannes du temps jadis, la Tisserande
est une constellation qui mène tout au long de l'année une vie de travail
solitaire; non loin d'elle, mais aussi solitaire, une autre constellation, le
Bouvier, travaille aux labours célestes : il faut bien qu'en tous lieux les
sexes restent séparés et se répartissent la besogne.[2]
Society was grounded in the division (and coordinated labor) of men and women. They were divided by rivers and streams that separated the household from the raised fields in the distance. Society was renewed by their coming together, first in the festivals and then in the social practices that made the winter months the heart of human and natural fertility. It was as though the festival were a slingshot that propelled men and women together in profound union that would stimulate even more “gathering”—from festivals to marriage and birth.
For the herdboy and the weaving maiden, it is a different kind of river that divides them—the Milky Way. Their labors, however, are just as different in the sky as they are for human beings on earth. Divided by a river, they go about their tasks in isolation, just as do their human counterparts. They come together only for the briefest (but deepest) of periods in a powerful concentration of the human festivals.
Between them, as a sacred frontier, flows the river known as the Milky Way.
Once a year, work stops and the constellations are reunited: at that point, to
celebrate her annual nuptials, the heavenly Maiden fords the holy river of
Heaven. As on earth, birds take part in the wedding festivals; magpies form
an escort at the wedding ceremony: if their heads are bare of plumage, it is
because, having gathered over deep waters, they have formed a bridge for
the procession to cross.[3]
Entre eux, frontière sacrée, coule un fleuve qui est la Voie lactée. Une fois
par an, le travail cesse et les constellations se rejoignent alors, pour aller
célébrer ses noces annuelles, la Vierge céleste passe à gué le fleuve saint
du Ciel. Comme sur terre, les oiseaux participent aux fêtes nuptiales ; les
pies forment escorte à la pompe du mariage : si leurs têtes sont dégarnies de
plumes, c'est que, se réunissant au-dessus des eaux profondes, elles ont fait
un pont pour le passage du cortège.[4]
The wedding imagery and, indeed, the very feeling of the holy place, is part of the reconnection of the lovers on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. Here again, Granet waxes poetic as he describes the magpies—heads bare of plumage—that gather over the waters. It is a profound sense of gathering that grounds the legend, just as it is a similarly profound gathering that lies at the very heart of the social order and gives it renewal every spring and every autumn.
Without doubt, the weaving maiden is foremost the very picture of women’s work in the Chinese cultural world. She represents the ideals of staying in place and attending to domestic labor and conjugal responsibility. She also has an added image: that of fertility goddess. It should never be forgotten that women’s life “under heaven” was a combination of domestic labor, conjugal responsibility, and teeming fertility. Sexuality was not nearly as important as fertility, and it was the hope of families that their women would bear many sons who would, in turn, marry many daughters from beyond their villages.
By her fidelity to ancient usages, the Weaving Maiden deserved to become
and to remain the patron of women’s work and of conjugal life: on the night
of the heavenly nuptials, Chinese women, in order to promote pregnancy,
float little figures of children on the water, and in order to become skillful, they
thread their needles by the light cast by the holy Constellation.[5]
Par sa fidélité aux vieux usages, la Tisserande a mérité de devenir et de
rester la patronne du travail féminin et de la vie conjugale : la nuit des
Noces célestes, les femmes chinoises, pour favoriser les grossesses, font
flotter sur l'eau des figurines d'enfant, et, pour devenir adroites, elles enfilent
des aiguilles à la lueur qui descend de la Constellation sainte.[6]
Just as women would thread their needles by the light of the constellation—a particularly poignant image that mixes many of the themes we have seen—so, too, would they thread their sexual futures to her stars. Who would think of a domestic laborer as an image of fertility? The two are intimately connected in the early Chinese social world of Granet’s text.
Just as the herdboy and the weaving maiden would come together for the briefest of periods during the year, so, too, was the window for living men and women quite narrow. Hoping to make the most of their own opportunities—which were deeply linked to the success of the closed domestic order and, if one can individualize at this point, the woman’s success within it—they connected themselves to the weaving maiden by sending figures down their own Milky Way. The fertility images are embedded, and are interwoven with the legends themselves.
Divided labor supports them. Fertility windows drive them.
Human sentiment and even profound desire for fertility are incapable of cementing these beliefs, however. That can only be done with the glue that is the calendar. The weaving maiden, far more than her partner, was to be found in the detritus of tradition—on tomb walls, on statuettes, and in fragments of legends. The calendar, and the resonant combination of seven and seven—with the yin essence it embodies—is what gives the weaving maiden her power in the cultural tradition. Even in times when women kept to their domestic labors, they were as though surrounded by a holy place of their own.
They were “fertilized,” as it were, by their contact with the holy places, even as the men labored in their fields far away from them, divided by the rushing rivers that separated the agricultural fields from the households where the women spent the late spring and summer months.
But if in the whole course of Chinese history, the Weaving Maiden has had
offerings of fruit and flowers set before her, if her graven image is to be found
on the walls of funerary chambers, and if she has come to the aid of filial piety
in difficulty, it is because the calendar has given her a place and because, even
in times when and places where women remained always shut up, there were
gardens made up of water, rocks, and venerable trees between the walls of the
noble residences recalling the ritual landscape of the Holy Places. There the
memory of the ancient Festivals could be preserved by carrying out some of
the seasonal rites that originated from them.[7]
Mais si, dans tout le cours de l'histoire chinoise, la Tisserande s'est vu
dresser des offrandes de fruits et de fleurs, si l'on trouve son image gravée
sur la paroi des chambres funéraires, si elle est venue en aide à la piété filiale
dans l'embarras, c'est que le calendrier lui avait assigné une place et que,
même aux temps et dans les milieux où les femmes restaient toujours cloîtrées,
il y avait, entre les murs des résidences nobles, des jardins, composés avec
des eaux, des roches et des arbres vénérables, qui rappelaient le paysage
rituel des Lieux Saints. Là, le souvenir des vieilles Fêtes pouvait être conservé
par la pratique de quelques-uns des rites saisonniers qui en dérivaient.[8]
The very rocks and gardens were more than symbols of the holy place: they were the holy place, and the women were imbued with their presence. In those gardens, amidst running waters and rocks, the women carried out the patterning of the seasonal festivals, just as the weaving maiden did the same in her constellation in the sky. When their own window of sexual opportunity would open in the cold months of late autumn and winter, they would be ready, with all of the power or ancestral presences hovering near the germinating seeds and the astral influence of the heavenly constellation of fertility, the weaving maiden.
Click here for other posts in Round and Square's "Rural Religion in China" series:
Rural 17 Rural 18 Rural 19 Rural 20 Rural 21 Rural 22 Rural 23 Rural 24
Rural 25 Rural 26 Rural 27 Rural 28 Rural 29 Rural 30 Rural 31 Rural 32
Rural 33
Notes
Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Rural Religion in Early China."
Click here for the introduction to "La Pensée Cyclique" the "umbrella topic for this series.
 |
| [a] Rural RF |
Rural 17 Rural 18 Rural 19 Rural 20 Rural 21 Rural 22 Rural 23 Rural 24
Rural 25 Rural 26 Rural 27 Rural 28 Rural 29 Rural 30 Rural 31 Rural 32
Rural 33
Herdboy and Weaving Maiden
Could there be a better picture in Chinese mythology of Granet’s cyclical theme than the legend of the herdboy and the weaving maiden? Society is divided in half by gender, and that is reinforced by the necessities of labor, which keep the two sexes apart for much of the year (in the mythical case, for 364 days). Divided work lies at the very core of early society and early thought. The apportioning of tasks may well have been a necessity of human—and now divine—labor, but it was surely more than that, as well. It was the fundamental starting point for human society itself.
The legend of the Weaving Maiden was born of a like transposition. Emblem
of young peasant women in times gone by, the Weaving Maiden is a
constellation which all through the year leads a life of lonely work; not far from
it but also alone, another constellation, the Cowherd, labors in the heavenly
fields: it was necessary everywhere for the sexes to remain apart and for their
tasks to be apportioned.[1]
C'est d'une transposition du même ordre qu'est née la légende de la
Tisserande. Emblème des jeunes paysannes du temps jadis, la Tisserande
est une constellation qui mène tout au long de l'année une vie de travail
solitaire; non loin d'elle, mais aussi solitaire, une autre constellation, le
Bouvier, travaille aux labours célestes : il faut bien qu'en tous lieux les
sexes restent séparés et se répartissent la besogne.[2]
 |
| [b] Slingshot RF |
Society was grounded in the division (and coordinated labor) of men and women. They were divided by rivers and streams that separated the household from the raised fields in the distance. Society was renewed by their coming together, first in the festivals and then in the social practices that made the winter months the heart of human and natural fertility. It was as though the festival were a slingshot that propelled men and women together in profound union that would stimulate even more “gathering”—from festivals to marriage and birth.
For the herdboy and the weaving maiden, it is a different kind of river that divides them—the Milky Way. Their labors, however, are just as different in the sky as they are for human beings on earth. Divided by a river, they go about their tasks in isolation, just as do their human counterparts. They come together only for the briefest (but deepest) of periods in a powerful concentration of the human festivals.
Between them, as a sacred frontier, flows the river known as the Milky Way.
Once a year, work stops and the constellations are reunited: at that point, to
celebrate her annual nuptials, the heavenly Maiden fords the holy river of
Heaven. As on earth, birds take part in the wedding festivals; magpies form
an escort at the wedding ceremony: if their heads are bare of plumage, it is
because, having gathered over deep waters, they have formed a bridge for
the procession to cross.[3]
Entre eux, frontière sacrée, coule un fleuve qui est la Voie lactée. Une fois
par an, le travail cesse et les constellations se rejoignent alors, pour aller
célébrer ses noces annuelles, la Vierge céleste passe à gué le fleuve saint
du Ciel. Comme sur terre, les oiseaux participent aux fêtes nuptiales ; les
pies forment escorte à la pompe du mariage : si leurs têtes sont dégarnies de
plumes, c'est que, se réunissant au-dessus des eaux profondes, elles ont fait
un pont pour le passage du cortège.[4]
 |
| [c] Renewal RF |
The wedding imagery and, indeed, the very feeling of the holy place, is part of the reconnection of the lovers on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. Here again, Granet waxes poetic as he describes the magpies—heads bare of plumage—that gather over the waters. It is a profound sense of gathering that grounds the legend, just as it is a similarly profound gathering that lies at the very heart of the social order and gives it renewal every spring and every autumn.
Without doubt, the weaving maiden is foremost the very picture of women’s work in the Chinese cultural world. She represents the ideals of staying in place and attending to domestic labor and conjugal responsibility. She also has an added image: that of fertility goddess. It should never be forgotten that women’s life “under heaven” was a combination of domestic labor, conjugal responsibility, and teeming fertility. Sexuality was not nearly as important as fertility, and it was the hope of families that their women would bear many sons who would, in turn, marry many daughters from beyond their villages.
By her fidelity to ancient usages, the Weaving Maiden deserved to become
and to remain the patron of women’s work and of conjugal life: on the night
of the heavenly nuptials, Chinese women, in order to promote pregnancy,
float little figures of children on the water, and in order to become skillful, they
thread their needles by the light cast by the holy Constellation.[5]
Par sa fidélité aux vieux usages, la Tisserande a mérité de devenir et de
rester la patronne du travail féminin et de la vie conjugale : la nuit des
Noces célestes, les femmes chinoises, pour favoriser les grossesses, font
flotter sur l'eau des figurines d'enfant, et, pour devenir adroites, elles enfilent
des aiguilles à la lueur qui descend de la Constellation sainte.[6]
 |
| [d] Linked RF |
Just as women would thread their needles by the light of the constellation—a particularly poignant image that mixes many of the themes we have seen—so, too, would they thread their sexual futures to her stars. Who would think of a domestic laborer as an image of fertility? The two are intimately connected in the early Chinese social world of Granet’s text.
Just as the herdboy and the weaving maiden would come together for the briefest of periods during the year, so, too, was the window for living men and women quite narrow. Hoping to make the most of their own opportunities—which were deeply linked to the success of the closed domestic order and, if one can individualize at this point, the woman’s success within it—they connected themselves to the weaving maiden by sending figures down their own Milky Way. The fertility images are embedded, and are interwoven with the legends themselves.
Divided labor supports them. Fertility windows drive them.
 |
| [e] Glue RF |
Human sentiment and even profound desire for fertility are incapable of cementing these beliefs, however. That can only be done with the glue that is the calendar. The weaving maiden, far more than her partner, was to be found in the detritus of tradition—on tomb walls, on statuettes, and in fragments of legends. The calendar, and the resonant combination of seven and seven—with the yin essence it embodies—is what gives the weaving maiden her power in the cultural tradition. Even in times when women kept to their domestic labors, they were as though surrounded by a holy place of their own.
They were “fertilized,” as it were, by their contact with the holy places, even as the men labored in their fields far away from them, divided by the rushing rivers that separated the agricultural fields from the households where the women spent the late spring and summer months.
But if in the whole course of Chinese history, the Weaving Maiden has had
offerings of fruit and flowers set before her, if her graven image is to be found
on the walls of funerary chambers, and if she has come to the aid of filial piety
in difficulty, it is because the calendar has given her a place and because, even
in times when and places where women remained always shut up, there were
gardens made up of water, rocks, and venerable trees between the walls of the
noble residences recalling the ritual landscape of the Holy Places. There the
memory of the ancient Festivals could be preserved by carrying out some of
the seasonal rites that originated from them.[7]
Mais si, dans tout le cours de l'histoire chinoise, la Tisserande s'est vu
dresser des offrandes de fruits et de fleurs, si l'on trouve son image gravée
sur la paroi des chambres funéraires, si elle est venue en aide à la piété filiale
dans l'embarras, c'est que le calendrier lui avait assigné une place et que,
même aux temps et dans les milieux où les femmes restaient toujours cloîtrées,
il y avait, entre les murs des résidences nobles, des jardins, composés avec
des eaux, des roches et des arbres vénérables, qui rappelaient le paysage
rituel des Lieux Saints. Là, le souvenir des vieilles Fêtes pouvait être conservé
par la pratique de quelques-uns des rites saisonniers qui en dérivaient.[8]
The very rocks and gardens were more than symbols of the holy place: they were the holy place, and the women were imbued with their presence. In those gardens, amidst running waters and rocks, the women carried out the patterning of the seasonal festivals, just as the weaving maiden did the same in her constellation in the sky. When their own window of sexual opportunity would open in the cold months of late autumn and winter, they would be ready, with all of the power or ancestral presences hovering near the germinating seeds and the astral influence of the heavenly constellation of fertility, the weaving maiden.
Click here for other posts in Round and Square's "Rural Religion in China" series:
Rural 17 Rural 18 Rural 19 Rural 20 Rural 21 Rural 22 Rural 23 Rural 24
Rural 25 Rural 26 Rural 27 Rural 28 Rural 29 Rural 30 Rural 31 Rural 32
Rural 33
 |
| [f] Astral RF |
[1] Marcel Granet, The Religion of the Chinese People [Translated by Maurice Freedman] (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 53-54..
[2] Marcel Granet, La religion des chinois (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1922), 24.
[3] Granet, Religion, 54.
[4] Granet, La religion, 25.
[5] Granet, Religion, 54.
[6] Granet, La religion, 25.
Bibliography
[7] Granet, Religion, 54.
[8] Granet, La religion, 25.
[9] Granet, Religion, 54.
[10] Granet, La religion, 25.Bibliography
Granet, Marcel. The Religion of the Chinese People [Translated by Maurice Freedman]. New York:
Harper & Row, 1975.
Granet, Marcel. La religion des chinois. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1922. Harper & Row, 1975.
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