The face of China

by E. G. Kemp

As we plodded along the rice-fields one morning, after about an hour’s walk we came to a wayside booth, where our men stopped for their first snack of food, and some particularly fresh-looking eggs tempted us to join their meal. The salesman proceeded to poach them, and would have added sugar if we had not stopped him. Declining chopsticks, I was provided with a nice little pottery spoon, and my friend took possession of a saucer about the size of a penny (commonly used for sauce) for the same purpose. Long strings of mules passed us, carrying taxes in the shape of small basket-loads of bullion, accompanied by a military escort. The leading mules were gaily decorated with flags, showing that they were on government duty. The road was bad and slippery, and our men soon decided to shorten the day’s journey by one-third, which we declined to allow, having already spared their strength by walking for several hours; we agreed, however, to shorten the stage to a certain extent. The natural result was that we found a horrible inn with only two tiny rooms at our disposal, an inner one being already occupied by several people. We agreed to remain there only on one condition—that these people should be put elsewhere; and we found the three cells were more than filled by ourselves and our staff. There were no windows, but there was plenty of ventilation. The house was like a large barn, the end of which was divided off by a thin partition, in the centre of which was a round door. This part was again subdivided into three cubicles. The outer part of the barn was like a big restaurant, and after a while the many inhabitants rolled themselves up like sausages in the wadded quilts provided by the inn, and bestowed themselves as comfortably as might be on tables or benches, and comparative silence reigned for a few hours. Happily, the rain stopped, for there was quite enough open space in the roof above my head and in the walls for us to study astronomy had it been a clear night. We found it unnecessary to have our pan of charcoal taken out at nights, for there was always a lovely breeze to carry away any fumes there might be.

In this district the beds are made of straw, covered with a bamboo matting, and are not uncomfortable; but we always felt happier when we got a plain wooden bedstead like a large, low table.

We passed a night at an interesting large town called Shun King Fu, and were greatly charmed with the lovely silks we saw being made there, and the silver work. Everywhere the people were busy with the various processes of silk-making. Hand-looms, of course, are used, and we saw the most exquisite golden shades of silk in all stages of manufacture. It is, however, never sold in its natural golden colour, or white (as that is the Chinese mourning), unless some European succeeds in getting hold of a piece in its unfinished state. Some of the natural dyes are wonderfully brilliant, but unfortunately none of them seemed to be fast colours. The red and yellow vegetable dyes and indigo are grown in the province of Szechwan, but, sad to say, aniline dyes have been introduced, and are becoming more and more common.

The missionaries who were entertaining us kindly sent out to a silk merchant to bring pieces for us to select from, as it is not very usual for ladies to go out shopping in this city. When we had chosen what we wanted, the silk had to be weighed, instead of measured, to ascertain what the price was. The merchant, who brought lovely embroidery silks for sale, had neat little scales in a case with which to weigh the skeins. A long discussion as to the price ensued, as it had gone up since our hosts bought similar silks a month before, and no valid reason could be produced for the change. Of course the system of bargaining is universal, and we were thankful to have some one to tell us what the price ought to have been and to do the bargaining for us. Next the silversmith was summoned, and he brought a trayful of various silver ornaments, ready to be inlaid with kingfishers’ feathers. This is an art peculiar to China; in fact, no one but a Chinaman would have the patience requisite for doing it. The effect is that of the most brilliant, iridescent, blue-green enamel, and usually beads or red-coloured glass or coral are introduced instead of jewels. It is particularly effective when combined with jade. This jewelry was also sold by weight, and we had to leave our purchases to be “feathered” and sent after us, as everything of that sort is only made to order. Brides frequently wear a sort of crown made of silver and kingfishers’ feathers, which looks extremely effective. There are some fine examples of this work in the Chinese Section of the South Kensington Museum.

We were told that we must make an early start next day, as it was a very long stage—between thirty and thirty-five miles—so we were up betimes, and ready at six o’clock. Luck was decidedly against us. First one of the coolies said he was ill and could not go, so another had to be got, which delayed us nearly an hour. The morning was very grey, and a cold drizzle soon set in. My chair-bearers fell down even before we got outside the city, and the road became more and more sticky every moment. The men hate cold water, and had to walk round every puddle, which took up a great deal of time. The ground is composed of a particularly sticky clay, which is perhaps the reason why not only the cattle but also the funny little black pigs wear straw sandals when they travel.

After our chairs had been upset more than once we decided that it was less unpleasant to walk, and the soldiers came valiantly to the rescue when the road was specially difficult, as in the case of long flights of slippery steps. Sometimes they gave us a hand, and sometimes they clutched an elbow to save us. The descriptions of slippery places and the perils of the road, as given in the Book of Psalms, were perpetually before our mental vision. Nothing could more accurately describe Chinese roads in wet weather. The coolies tied little metal things on to their sandals, which was somewhat of a help, but we felt almost thankful when at midday the rain settled into a steady downpour; for, though it was rather dreary, it was less slippery. There were a large number of chairs on the road, and some as important-looking as our own. This was the only bit of the journey when we travelled like mandarins, but we lacked the smart military uniforms of the mandarins’ coolies; ours were the most disreputable, ragged-looking crew, and much less satisfactory as carriers than those we had in Shantung or Yünnan. In the nine days that we had been travelling from Wanhsien we had only once met a four-bearer chair, but now we were nearing the capital—Chengtu—the road was much more crowded with traffic of all sorts. The last stage of the journey is through comparatively level country. After a breakneck descent from the mountains we entered the plain in which Chengtu is situated. It is about ninety miles in length by forty broad, and has been well described as a garden. Colonel Manifold estimates that it contains a population of 1700 to the square mile, and there are seventeen cities in it. The old familiar groan of wheelbarrows greeted our ears once more, though the type is slightly different here from that of Shantung; they are much smaller and only accommodate one person, or (as we frequently saw) one fat pig, lying on his back, with his legs in the air. The seat is immediately behind the wheel, and it looks decidedly comic to see a woman, wearing tight pink trousers, with a leg cocked jauntily on either side of the wheel.

SUNLIGHT AND MIST IN THE MOUNTAINS

In this part of the country we passed through villages much more frequently, and the people had a busier air. There are markets held every few days in one or other of the villages, so that we continually met people coming from them laden with their spoils. They kept passing us on the road wearing paper caps over their hats, and on inquiry we learnt that this was done to preserve their pristine freshness. The fields were full of people weeding, and they looked very comfortable, seated on their little stools, and with warming-pans between their feet; for it was the week before Christmas, and the weather was growing cold. The minute kind of care the peasants here give to their crops is most interesting, each individual plant in a field being carefully attended to and manured. Each member of a family seems to share in the toil and to have implements suited to his or her size, some of them the “cutest” little weapons imaginable. The people look well fed and attended to, but their clothing is often a network of rags, and their houses are singularly dark and forbidding. If there is any scarcity through unfavourable crops, they suffer immediately and acutely, as agriculture is the most important industry of the province. The men have such long pipes that they frequently use them as walking-sticks. Often the women came round and smilingly interrogated us. Then we went through an amusing dumb conversation of the most friendly sort. The subject is usually the same—feet—and they never fail to admire our English boots, if not our feet. We, on our side, express much admiration of the exquisite embroidery of their shoes, though we do not admire their feet. Everywhere they seem to think we must be doctors, and they come and explain what a pain they have in the region of the digestion. We administer a harmless and comforting dose of ginger, and they swallow it with the utmost faith, which we hope may cause it to be doubly efficacious. In any case it is a sign of our goodwill, and establishes a friendly feeling among the people, and I do not see that it can do any harm.

We reached Chengtu on the morning of the fourteenth day, and spent a full hour wandering in search of the English missionary’s house, on whose kind hospitality we were reckoning; for there are many missions in this large city, and our men at once made for the most imposing, which, needless to say, is American.