CHAPTER IX.
The floating-city presents itself under two very different aspects: during the day, it is an industrial hive, whose moving honeycombs are occupied by a laborious and intelligent race—ever active, never flinching from the severest exactions of incessant toil. By night, the same city is a rich and beautiful courtesan, crowned with flowers, decked with bright jewels, murmuring, with winsome voice, quaint melodies and songs of love-in-idleness, and plying, with little reticence, her voluptuous trade, under the shadow of the dark. Under the clear light of the sun, the matter-of-fact observer has perhaps contemplated with wonder this austerely unrelaxing population, so painfully greedy of gain, which in the pursuit of the means of physical well-being, of that very wealth which is the pledge of independence, contributes by its selfish activity to the pleasures of the whole world. By the trembling radiance of the stars, the reverist or the poet mingles in the astonishing festival the city nightly prepares for herself. He recognises with delight the realisation of his wildest fancies, his strangest imaginings, and in presence of this vision of mystery, his spirit floats continually between the dream and the reality. If, in their intoxication, the opium-smokers of the Celestial Empire, retained any consciousness of the world without, they would discover that it is idle to be chasing, through the perils of a transient delirium, hallucinations which are incessantly enacted around them. They would forswear their daily poison-trance to share—free from its penalties of horror, and with all the peculiar intimacy of emotion which the real in life alone can give—in the indescribable spectacle of which we shall seek to convey some idea.
When darkness comes down, the belated boats return to their proper localities; the oars are silent in the populous streets; the floating cottage, made fast to its neighbour, is laid up for a quiet night; and all the family, seated under the roof of bamboo, before an enormous dish of rice, enjoys as it may the unsavoury meal of poverty, by the light of a little earthen lamp, which glimmers in the dark like a fire-fly. On board the habitations of the tradespeople, an illuminated globe, bearing the name of the proprietor, is hung up before the entry; while the proprietor himself, seated at table with his youngest child, and waited upon by his wife, or by his wives, is relishing the savoury viands which conjugal solicitude has prepared for him. The flower-boats now suspend from the mast-head their gigantic lanterns, brilliantly painted with dragons entwined, and nameless blossoms; and these semi-transparent beacons serve to point out those dazzling abodes.
This transformation is the work of an instant of time; it is literally done under your eyes at a glance. The waves of the Tchou-kiang, only the moment before of a dull and dusky green, flash back all at once the stars in the sky, the humble lamp which lights the supper of the labourer, the spherical lantern which hangs in front of the quiet room of the tradesman, and those more subdued and tender fires towards which the gay night-flies and the heavy beetles will soon bend their course,—that is, the slender girls of Han, and the squat and corpulent mandarins. Here then we have, in some sort, the first act of the nocturnal drama nightly enacted upon the bosom of the Tchou-kiang; an act performed in dumb show, for there is a cessation of all accustomed sounds along the bank of the enchanted river, and one might suppose that the actors were recruiting themselves before entering upon a fresh scene.
But soon some indeterminate sounds begin to stir the soft air. Single, half-timorous voices are singing on board the tradesmen's barks—Chinese Hagars, probably, who are soothing their masters after the fashion of her whose acquaintance we made under the auspices of our friend the aquatic philosopher. In the tankas may be heard other songstresses trying their clear-toned, perhaps rather virile voices. Who knows but these may be the barbarian melodies of which old A-Tchoun told us, with which they celebrate the nuptials of the tanka-girls? Perhaps A-Moun is married to-night!
… Yet, no—it is the fair boat-woman herself who is initiating us—M. Rondot, M. Renard, and me—in a portion of the mysteries of the floating-city, and who puts it in our power to peep a little into the inner life of her order. Not unfrequently, the boats of the poor present family groups full of grace and natural simplicity; the children especially being the objects of the tenderest caresses. The father, who has just ceased labour, worn with fatigue, takes upon his knees the youngest of his children; he encircles the little creature with his arms, that it may not fall; and so, rice-bowl in one hand and bamboo chopsticks in the other, he feeds the babe with the soft, assiduous patience of an attentive mother.
The tanka-girls, contrary to the practice among the women of the bourgeoisie and upper ranks, eat with their husbands, it being only fair that the food won by their common labour should be partaken of in common. We felt an interest of a very attractive kind in watching these poor families at their meals. The dish of rice and fish, which constitutes the whole repast, is placed upon the deck of the vessel; the father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother are ranged all round it upon cane seats, while the children, basin in hand, edge in and take places at the corners as they can. There is laughter, there is conversation, in these rude homes, and the shadow of thoughts of privation to come falls not upon the simple feast: each one, with a cheerful heart, eats his share of the meagre reward of a day of painful toil.
But, to speak truth, this patriarchal innocence does not preside in every one of these humble cabins. A-Moun pointed out to us some of the boats where women—and only women—were seated, in a squatting position, on the poop and round the sides. When a visitor introduces himself to these girls, they drop a mat woven of cane-strips at the back, and hang up a shawl in front; and although under these circumstances no curious eye could see into their retreat, the little lamp is quenched, and the boat lies unseen in the shadow of its shame. Alas! the poetic region of the tankas is like an ancient eclogue; the simplicity of nature is continually shouldered by a sinister sensuality.
This second stage of the nocturnal phase is commonly spread over some hours. At last, the lamps of the poor die out by degrees, and the songs are heard no more from the tankas and the tradesmen's boats. There is sleep in these peaceful abodes, and opulent vice lifts her forehead and breaks the silence with a freer voice. It might be supposed that the flower-boats wait until the taper is extinguished in chaste and well-reputed domiciles, in order to invoke the presence of their own numerous patrons. Upon the roof beats the tam-tam; rockets are fired from the mast-heads; from every window sounds the music of shrill voices, and issues a half-muffled light. It must be confessed these procedures of invitation are very successful. On every hand, you may now see, noiselessly threading the stream, boats laden with girls, boats laden with wealthy merchants,—yes, and boats laden with young students. It is even so! Just the same here as with us in Paris! Dance or not dance, these Chinese students find their way to their casino! But let us watch. Though some of these motley cargoes discharge on board the flower-boats, other cargoes are leaving them;—it is not uncommon to see gorgeous mandarin-boats, lanterns lit and pendants flying, glide up to take in a cargo of handsome girls, and then glide off again, to unload their charming freight before some one of the palaces which border the canals of the Tchou-kiang!
I had never seen the flower-boats by night, except at a distance, when at last an unforeseen circumstance gave me an opportunity of observing one of these establishments as closely as was possible, without penetrating into the interior. One evening, Pan-se-Chen sent word to Callery and me that, if we would hold ourselves at his disposal at about eight o'clock, he would accompany us in a tour. At the hour agreed upon, the boatmen were before Thè-ki-Han, and we found the mandarin installed in the saloon of the vessel, leisurely sipping a cup of tea. All the blinds were drawn up, except those immediately in front of the great man himself, in order that we might see outside. After the usual compliments had passed, our host had us settled in a corner of the room, by two half-open windows through which we could see without being seen. Thus secured from all accidents, since the mandarin was with us, visible to all observers, and his name legible on every flag, we traversed the city of Tchou-kiang.
After this exploration, I can assert that Europeans—Europeans resident in China, I mean—have understated the enormous extent of river surface which is populated. The boat which carried us was rowed along by six oarsmen; we rowed for several consecutive hours without repassing by the same streets, and it was high festival every part of the way! Up the river, down the river, along the branching canals, in the bays and bends of the stream, everywhere, there was song, revelry, and illumination. As soon as we came up before a first-class boat, everybody repeated our mandarin's name, and the pretty barks which were in waiting before the large establishments, like carriages at the doors of our theatres, ranged themselves on each side to make way for us. In this style, we reached a magnificent canal which Pan-se-Chen told us was called Han-Leou-Han, from the multitude of flower-boats which are found there, ranged in their order. Indeed, the two quays were bordered by magnificent Han-Leu; the long line of these palaces stretching out far into the distance, and giving quite a fairy-like aspect to the quarter.
Chinese tapers, imprisoned in thin cages of gauze, shut up in little cells of translucid pearl, shed of course only a muffled light. This dim lustre, while it shows objects to the beholder, tinges them with a still and slumberous hue. The larger structures, athwart the arabesques and carven openings of whose four façades this white, pale light stole dimly, would have resembled temples of the god of eternal repose, had it not been for the strange noises which issued from their depths, and rang loudly overhead. The prolonged beating of gongs, the incessant explosion of rockets, and the vibrations of brazen strings, made these monuments alive, so that they suggested those noisy places of resort with us where people dance with frenzy, carried away by an excitement which will never have any sway over the apathetic inhabitants of the Land of Flowers. It is, I think, the contrast between these loud, obtrusive noises, and the languid dying light, which communicates to the quaint, Babylonish clangours of the scene an inexpressible charm, which passionate admirers of artistic music cannot bring themselves to believe.
We passed and repassed several times in front of the enchanted palaces of Han-Leou-Han, and we were enabled to snatch glimpses of certain unguarded details in the dissolute life of the pleasure-loving children of the Celestial Empire. Upon the terrace of Han-Leu we saw a mandarin of the blue button seated at a table, loaded with preserved fruits pyramidally piled upon little salvers made of porcelain. Opposite this individual was seated a young girl, who kept on singing while the voluptuous liver in question was nonchalantly tasting here and there of the delicacies spread before him. This functionary had not thought it necessary to doff any of the insignia of his office; his hat still bore its brilliant ornament of the peacock's feather, and his long robe indicated his rank. The fair young singer had her head dressed with flowers, her netted hair was gathered above the ear, and then stretched out behind her head, like the plumage of a raven. She wore a rose-coloured cham, trimmed with black, which did not come below her knees, and under which was a blue petticoat plaited in narrow folds. The listener seemed delighted, either with her voice, or with the words chosen by his musical plaything, for he manifested his approbation every minute by bobbing his bead lake a child's toy rabbit.
At another moment we came suddenly upon a more developed spectacle, seen through the parted blinds of a very handsome cabin. Two players, seated opposite each other, were engaged in a lively contest over a chess-board, and two charming-looking women were the spectators, apparently full of the liveliest interest in the game. Upon a couch, or rather a divan, placed farther back, lay a Chinese getting ready to smoke his opium. He had thrown off his long robe and his slippers, and his cham and pantaloons were beautifully white. There he reclined patiently enough, stretched at full length, whilst a young girl prepared his pipe for him. It will be seen that it is well-behaved, almost tasteful, vice which resorts to the flower-boats; and, in fact, men of letters, government officials, rich merchants, and grave seniors, frequent these abodes of joy without in the least suffering in their good repute. Precisely as with us, the best-conducted and most strait-laced people do not feel bound to withdraw their confidence, sympathy, and esteem from many of our leading littérateurs, artists, financiers, administrators, physicians, and others, because they may be found occasionally in our gardens with—or without—flowers!
On our leaving this quarter, Pan-se-Chen asked us what impression our nocturnal excursion had produced upon our minds. We expressed our rapture in strong terms, upon which this wealthy functionary drew a deep sigh, and exclaimed:—
"Ah! Canton! Canton! It is indeed the abode of pleasure! Well does the proverb say: 'Young man, go not to Canton; old man, go not to Sou-Tchuen.' The atmosphere respired here, saturated with perfume, tremulous with the musical murmurs of passion, is as fatal to inexperienced youth as the icy breath of our northern provinces is to feeble age!"
"I cannot deny," said Callery, "that the bosom of the Tchou-kiang by night offers one of the finest spectacles to be seen in the world; but, leaving out the flower-boats, I don't see that your city is any richer in pleasures than other parts of the Celestial Empire."
Pan-se-Chen fidgetted on his seat, and exclaimed with great warmth, "What! Indeed, but we can command here a profusion of all the delights which are only parsimoniously scattered elsewhere. Every year we receive ship-loads of the girls of Sou-tchou-Fou and Nankin; and even Mongolia supplies us with her contingent of blooming young Tartars. Our cooks are celebrated all over the empire. Where but here did they invent those exquisite dishes—the brainless duck, and the empty-hearted force-meat balls? Our fruits excite envy wherever nice things are loved; when the shells of the lit-chi begin to redden, messengers start from Canton every day, to carry branches laden with fruit to the Emperor. And his journey is reckoned with such nicety, that the porter reaches the palace-gate at the very moment when the pulp has reached its luscious maturity! Then, look at our pleasure-gardens: in all the eighteen provinces, are there any that can compare with them? Our kiosks and pavilions, beautifully painted, and delicately sculptured, rise from the midst of flowery pyramids, where blossom is piled on blossom. Then, what more can the lovers of sensual joys expect? Yet the sage and the man of letters are equally well catered for in our Canton. Here we have the greatest number of antique bronzes, folded silks voluptuously painted, and ancient objects in lacquer-work—to inspect which the greatest artists of the world meet together here. I will maintain it. Canton is the wonder of the universe!"
Callery did not see fit to reply to this eulogistic plea for the Chinese city. When our mandarin had taken breath, he added, addressing my friend:—
"And you, in the land of the West, have you anything to compare even with our flower-boats?"
His interlocutor endeavoured to describe to him establishments of a similar character in France; and then spoke of our theatres; but Pan-se-Chen interrupted him:
"What! When you go to see a play, you enter a building where you must mix with the crowd, and are liable to be jostled by everybody? For my part, when I want to witness a theatrical performance, I make the actors come to my house, and invite my friends. … And then, what pleasure can you find in your gardens where the dancing goes on? Respectable people can take no part in such a diversion; dancing-girls are a great deal more like boys than women. We have some here, and we now and then ask them to dinner, to make them jump afterwards, but no one would admit them into the women's apartments. What attraction for a great lord can there be in a woman who walks like a boy, straddles about, and could even run, if we wanted her to do it? Ah, no! the only lovely woman is she whose feet are so small that she totters like a baby, and can scarcely stir from place to place. Why, what can equal the graceful movements she is forced to make in order to hold herself up? Well, well, one of these days I will make one of these splay-footed girls dance in your presence, and you shall tell me what you really do think of her!"
Pan-se-Chen ceased. Some days after, he gave a fête to the Ambassador, in which a young danseusse from Pekin was one of the performers. Between the acts, our mandarin had me conducted behind the scenes into the presence of the actress. She was a child of fourteen, who had none of the timidity of Chinese girls in general; I took her hand, and she did not withdraw it. Although professionally accustomed to vigorous exercise, she was exceedingly plump—indeed too fat—and allowed none of the slenderness and grace of frailer plants trained in the shadow of domestic seclusion. Upon the whole, I was of the opinion of Pan-se-Chen about her. I would not have had such girls in my women's apartments—if I had been a Chinese. The musical abilities of the girl were very poor, and she danced like a tumbler, frisking and springing about with little taste.
While we were talking of China and France, we reached the landing-place of a house built upon the bank of a canal, of which the mandarin had given us the name. Inviting us to step out of the boat, Pan-se-Chen said to us, "I have brought you hither in order to carry out the design I have in view."
Callery, who alone understood these mysterious words, paid little attention to them. We crossed a vestibule paved with marble, where servants stood in waiting, wearing the blue cham and short trousers. We amended to the first storey by a staircase ornamented with tufts of flowers, and were then led into a chamber decorated with paintings of the gayest description, while in the middle there was laid out a collation, of which every component dish was indigenous. I looked at Callery, with a countenance which asked as plainly as possible, "Do you know what this means?" but he bit his lips and held his peace. Having nothing better to do, I spent my time in examining the pictures, which bore no resemblance to those well-known water-colour products of Cantonese art which are shipped to Europe. They were real Chinese paintings, done for the Chinese. One of them, representing a woman, seemed to me to exaggerate the type adopted by Celestial artists to such a degree, that I begged Callery to ask Pan-se-Chen if it was a portrait. The mandarin drew himself up, with great vivacity, in front of the picture I was examining, and passing his finger up and down over the surface, said:—
"Nature, in her creations, can never be the true rival of Art; she is powerless to produce anything so perfect. Observe these sloping eyes, how they incline to a point towards the nose! And that mouth, which is so small that a grain of rice would cover it! I speak not of feet, for this picture has none[1]—it is not a woman; it is the loveliest bird under heaven! If such a piece of perfection really existed, the Emperor could not buy her with all his treasures. But I tell you the daughters of men can never perfectly resemble the types produced by the sublime imaginations of our painters!"
So much for Chinese appreciation of beauty! For these men, blasés as they are, it is not beauty which is beautiful; it is something extraordinary foreign, extravagant, fantastical. The faulty exaggeration of an object, far from repelling, attracts them. A well-rounded hump is in their eyes almost a gem of loveliness. This perversion of the taste disquiets the fancy, and sets them dreaming of impossibilities; under the continual influence of unnatural stimuli, the senses are deadened, and the exhausted being, even while he may yet be called young, has to rouse his benumbed faculties by the use of shameful devices, of the very existence of which Western nations are happily ignorant. This demoralisation is more common in China than is generally supposed, and makes frightful ravages among the population, having to some degree passed into a custom. At this present time, men of all ranks are unblushingly obscene. Pan-se-Chen unrolled before us, appearing to look at them solely as objects of artistic interest, a series of pictures executed upon white satin, compared with which the celebrated picture of Parrhasius, bequeathed to Tiberius, according to Suetonius, by a Roman senator, would have been almost decent. Some of these roller-paintings cost more than a hundred and twenty pounds; and many of them, of a high antiquity, were masterpieces in their way: they were woven like the celebrated portraits executed by the Lyonnese.
While we were being initiated, by means of these paintings, into the mysteries of the women's apartments, the door of the saloon opened noiselessly, and a domestic admitted three small-footed ladies. "Evil be to him that evil thinks!" You may throw doors and windows open, and read aloud what I am about to relate.
As soon as these women came in, the disgusting silken pictures were rolled up precipitately, and Pan-se-Chen said to us, "I might have taken you to my house; only when one has at home a regular wife and twelve ladies beside, it is impossible to do anything secretly. So, I have induced these young ladies, upon, whose discretion I can rely, to visit us here, under this humble roof."
Callery and I exchanged looks, thinking that the moment for the revelations was nigh; but we were mistaken; a Chinese never hurries things.
"Let us sit down at table," said the mandarin; "we will drink a cup of tea."
The young ladies, as Pan-se-Chen called them, stared at us at first with large, startled eyes; but it was not long before their surprise gave place to another feeling, and they bust into loud laughter under our very faces. I imagine there may have been an excess of self-appreciation in the feeling which led Callery to assure me, confidently, that the girls were laughing at our dresses only, and not at our figures. But, for my part, I was enraptured to have before my eyes, within the touch of my hand, the living reality of the figures I had been so long studying on the walls of the apartments. I came to the conclusion, either that the Chinese artists had been thoroughly inspired by their models, or that the ladies of the Flowery Empire managed to model their own persons, with great success, after the conceptions of their popular painters. Mademoiselle Vo-Lon was very little like these graceful young women; these were the most charming types of Chinese beauty, while the other was an ugly specimen of the race. Then, the daughter of Vicente was a poor child of humble birth,—serious, shy, and hard-working,—whilst our visitors on this occasion had no trade but that of pleasing: to be pretty and seductive was their one pursuit in life; and, moreover, they were perfectly at home in all the engaging little ways and infantine coquetries which make the chief charm of the daughters of Han.
These young creatures sang rather than spoke, and their least movements were stamped with that affectation, which is the height of "manners" in China. They were admirably got up. Their chams, of red or blue, were embroidered round the edges; their pantaloons were held up by a girdle, whose fringe fell almost to the feet; their little feet were cased in charming shoes wrought in gold, and the peak of the toe had a diminutive bell, which tinkled gaily when they walked, or rather toddled, on the handsome floor. This bell was to our eyes an emblem: it signified that these etiolated beings held no higher place in the affections of a Chinese, than a spaniel aforetime held in those of our great-great-grandmothers. Some little girls waited on us. These domestics were simply enough clad, in a blue cham with large trousers; their feet, which were as nature made them, were enclosed in shoes, of which the sole was very high, and made in the shape of a truncated and inverted cone—that is, the narrowest part touched the ground, so that they seemed to be walking on stilts.
A very charming and winsome object is a Chinese woman eating. Our pretty messmates helped themselves, with the ends of their chopsticks, from the dishes spread upon the table, to a Nankin jujube, a bit of ginger, or of water-lily confection, and carried it to their lips with a mincing delicacy of movement, which made them look like pet birds being fed, a beak-full at a time.
When, grace being said, we had taken a cup of tea, the following dialogue was carried on, in a half whisper, between our interpreter and the rich mandarin:
"You have told us that these ladies are women from the flower-boats; that is the case, is it not?"
"Just so; and, what is more, these three are the loveliest to be found just now in all the estabblishments of Han-Leou-Han."
"The lot of these women must be a very pitiable one?"
"Pitiable! why? They are the happiest women in Canton! They are fondly sought after by the wealthy inhabitants, and have always suitors at their feet. Have you not observed how their fingers are loaded with jewels, and their wrists and ancles with bracelets? These are gifts offered up to their beauty; you may imagine that they are living in clover."
"While their youth lasts, I can understand that they may not have much reason to complain of their condition; but, later in life, what befalls them?"
"Precisely what befalls other women: they tend their children, living quietly enough with their husbands in the home into which they have been adopted."
"Their husbands! Do you mean to tell me that those women marry?"
"Nearly all of them; but even those who don't marry, are very much sought after to take the second place in large houses."
"You are bantering me! It is absurd to speak of introducing into a respectable home a woman of such antecedents!"
"Why? I have under my own roof two young girls whom I found in the Han-Leu, and they are neither the least beautiful nor the least charming occupants of the women's quarter in my house!"
"Really, I cannot believe that you have taken home to your wives two women, who have been leading this sad life."
On these words Pan-se-Chen made a gesture of astonishment, rose, and, placing himself before Callery, said to him:—
"I do not understand your squeamishness! We Chinese have none of these prejudices, and we find ourselves all the better off for being without them. In our eyes a woman is a jewel which does not lose any of its value though being admired by everybody. If I go to a lapidary, and see some precious stone of a pure water, an emerald clasp, or ancient pan-che, in fine preservation, am I entitled to despise them, disparage their beauty and refuse to wear them, under the silly pretext that others have worn them before me? When people pay you ingots of silver, do you depreciate their value because others have handled them before you? … Very good! believe me, a woman is like the precious stone or the bar of silver; she keeps her value so long as she keeps her beauty, her complexion, her figure, her elegance, and he is a great fool who refuses to appropriate her, on the ground of scruples void of common sense."
I have already given the ideas of the Chinese about beauty: you have here their theory of love. Rather crude, you will say; but, after all, naïve, exact, intelligible as an axiom! … When we withdrew from the little house of Pan-se-Chen, it was three o'clock in the morning; the districts where the flower-boats lay were still illuminated; gongs were still sounding away; fireworks crackling and whizzing, and voices singing as before. These noises mingled confusedly with the accustomed sounds of early dawn from the noisy sailors on board the junks ready to set sail. The dissolute child of opulence finished his night of revelry to the same music which ushered in for the poor labourer his day of toil.
- ↑ We apprehend the great man did not intend to convey that the "bird" was, speaking au pied de la lettre, footless; but that her "golden lilies" had been tapered away by the sovereign will of creative art till they had merged in her legs!—T.