"That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil."
But a better day is coming for Chinese women. Wherever Christianity has touched them in the past they have been uplifted and benefited. The sun seems now to rise in greater effulgence on the Kingdom of the Yellow Dragon. The wretched custom of dwarfing and destroying the feet of a child whose misfortune, according to Confucius, it is to be born a female, is giving way under pressure from contact with the enlightened nations of the world. The teachings of the Christian Church are having their salutary effect and Chinamen are beginning to learn the value of a woman's life from the Biblical standpoint, and the daughters of the Flowery Kingdom will, as time goes on, become more and more like the polished corners of the Temple, or the Caryatides supporting the entablature of the Erechtheum at Athens. It is Madame Wu Ting-Fang, wife of the Chinese Minister at Washington, who has recently returned from a visit to her old home, who says: "The first penetrating influence of exterior civilisation on the customs of my country has touched the conditions of women. The emancipation of woman in China means, first of all, the liberation of her feet, and this is coming. Indeed, it has already come in a measure, for the style in feet has changed. Wee bits of feet, those no longer than an infant's, are no longer the fashion. When I went back home I found that the rigid binding and forcing back of the feet was largely a thing of the past. China, with other nations, has come to regard that practice as barbarous, but the small feet, those that enable a woman to walk a little and do not inconvenience her in getting about the house, are still favoured by the Chinese ladies."
The custom of binding and destroying the feet, no doubt, arose from the low views entained by Chinese sages concerning woman, and from a lack of confidence in her sense of honour and virtue. She must be maimed so that she cannot go about at will, so she shall be completely under the eye of her husband, held as it were in fetters. It is a sad comment on Chinese domestic morality, it fosters the very evil it seeks to cure, it destroys all home life in the best sense. The veiled women of the East are very much in the same position. If a stranger, out of curiosity or by accident, look on the face of a Mohammedan wife, it might lead to her repudiation by her jealous husband, or the offender might be punished for his innocent glance. The writer recalls how at Hebron, in Palestine, he was cautioned by the dragoman, when going up a narrow street to the Mosque of Machpelah, where he had to pass veiled women, not to look at them or to seem to notice them, as the men were very fanatical and might do violence to an unwary tourist. The Chinese women of small feet, or rather no feet at all, walk, or attempt to walk, in a peculiar way. It is as if one were on stilts. The feet are nothing but stumps, while the ankles are large, almost unnatural in their development. It is indeed a great deformity. The feet are shrunken to less size than an infant's; but they have not the beauty of a baby's feet, which have in them great possibilities and a world of suggestion and romance and poetry. If the Chinese custom had prevailed among the ancient Hebrew people, think you that King Solomon in singing of the graces of the Shulamite, who represents the Church mystically, would ever have exclaimed,—"How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter!" We should have lost, moreover, much that is noble in art, and the poetic creations of Greek sculptors would never have delighted the eye nor enchained the fancy.
In our perambulations about Chinatown, we must next visit an opium-joint. This mysterious place was situated in a long, rambling building through which we had to move cautiously so as not to stumble into some pit or dangerous hole or trap-door. Here were no electric lights to drive away the gloom, here no gas-jets to show us where we were treading, nothing but an occasional lamp dimly burning. Yet we went on as if drawn by a magic spell. At last we were ushered into a room poorly furnished. It was not more than twelve feet square, and in the corner was an apology for a bed. On this was stretched an old man whose face was sunken, whose eyes were lusterless, whose hand was long and thin and bony, and whose voice was attenuated and pitched in a falsetto key. The guide said that this old Chinaman was sixty-eight years of age, and that he had had a life of varied experience. He was a miner by profession, but had spent all his earnings long ago, and was now an object of charity as well as of pity. Indeed he was the very embodiment of misery, a wretched, woebegone, human being! He had lost one arm in an accident during his mining days. Chinamen in the thirst for gold had mining claims as well as Anglo-Saxons. This desire for the precious metal seems to be universal. All men more or less love gold; and for its acquisition they will undergo great hardship, face peril, risk their lives. This aged Chinaman for whom there was no future except to join his ancestors in another life, was now a pauper notwithstanding all his quest for the treasures of the mines; and his chief solace, if it be comfort indeed to have the senses benumbed periodically, or daily, and then wake up to the consciousness of loss and with a feeling of despair betimes, was in his opium pipe, which he smoked fifty times a day at the cost of half a dollar, the offering of charity, the dole received from his pitying countrymen or the interested traveller who might come to his forlorn abode. But what a fascination the opium drug has for the Chinaman, and not for him alone, but for children of other races—for men and women who, when under its spell, will sell honour and sacrifice all that is dear in life, and even forego the prospect and the blessed hope of entering at last into the bliss of the heavenly world! But what is opium, what its parentage and history? The Greeks will tell you it is their opion or opos, the juice of the poppy, and the botanist will point out the magic flower for you as the Papaver Somniferum, whose home was originally in the north of Europe and in Western Asia; but now, just as the tribes of the earth have spread out into many lands, so has the poppy which has brought much misery as well as blessing to men, found its way into various quarters of the globe, particularly those countries which are favoured with sunny skies. It is cultivated in Turkey, India, Persia, Egypt, Algeria and Australia, as well as in China. I now recall vividly the beautiful poppy fields at Assiut, Esneh and Kenneh, by the banks of the Nile, in which such subtle powers were sleeping potent for ill or good as employed by man for deadening his faculties or soothing pain in reasonable measure. These flowers were of the reddish kind. In China they have the white, red and purple varieties, which, as you gaze on them, seem to set the fields aglow with fire and attract your gaze as if you were enchained to the spot by an unseen power. The seeds are sown in November and December, in rows which are eighteen inches apart, and four-fifths of the opium used in China is the home-product, though it was not so formerly. In March or April the poppy flowers according to the climate, the soil, and the location. The opium is garnered in April or May, and prepared for the market. The Chinese merchant values most of all the Shense drug, while the Ynnan and the Szechuen drugs take next rank. The opium is generally made into flat cakes and wrapped up in folds of white paper. It is said that it was introduced into China in the reign of Taitsu, between the years A.D. 1280 and 1295; but it is worthy of note that up to the year 1736 it was imported only in small quantities and employed simply for its medicinal properties, as a cure for diarrhoea, dysentery, and fevers, hemorrhage and other ills. It was in the year 1757 that the monopoly of the cultivation of the poppy in India passed into the hands of the East India Company through the victory of Lord Clive over the Great Mogul of Bengal at Plassey; and from this time the importation of the drug into China became a matter of great profit financially. In 1773 the whole quantity imported was only two hundred chests. In 1776 it had increased to one thousand chests, while in 1790 it leaped up to four thousand and fifty-four chests. The Chinese Emperor, Keaking, becoming alarmed at its growing use and its pernicious effect when eaten or smoked, forbade its importation, and passed laws punishing persons who made use of it otherwise than medicinally, and the extreme penalty was sometimes transportation, and sometimes death. Yet the trade increased, and in the decade between 1820 and 1830 the importation was as high as sixteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy-seven chests. The evil became so great that in 1839 a royal proclamation was put forth threatening English opium ships with confiscation if they did not keep out of Chinese waters. This was not heeded, and then Lin, the Chinese Commissioner, gave orders to destroy twenty thousand, two hundred and ninety-one chests of opium, each containing 149-1/3 pounds, the valuation of which was $10,000,000. Still the work of smuggling went on and the result was what is known as the Opium War, which was ended in 1842 by the treaty of Nanking. China was forced by Great Britain to pay $21,000,000 indemnity, to cede in perpetuity to England the city of Hong Kong, and to give free access to British ships entering the ports of Canton, Amoy, Foochoofoo, Ningpo and Shanghai. The importation of opium from India is still carried on—but the quantity is not so great as formerly, owing to the cultivation of the plant in China. The Hong Kong government has an opium farm, for which to-day it receives a rental of $15,500 per month. The farmer sells on an average from eight to ten tins of opium daily, the tins being worth about $150 each. His entire receipts from his sales of the drug are about $45,000 per month. This opium farmer is well known to be the largest smuggler of opium into China; and not without reason does Lord Charles Beresford, in his book "The Break-up of China," say: "Thus, indirectly the Hong Kong government derives a revenue by fostering an illegitimate trade with a neighbouring and friendly Power, which cannot be said to redound to the credit of the British Government. It is in direct opposition to the sentiments and tradition of the laws of the British Empire." It was here in Chinatown, in San Francisco, that I was brought face to face with the havoc that is made through the opium trade and the use of the pernicious drug in eating and smoking. I was told that Europeans and Americans sometimes sought the opium-joints for the purpose of indulgence in the vice of smoking. Even women were known to make use of it in this way. The old man whom I visited was lying on his left side, with his head slightly raised on a hard pillow covered with faded leather. He took the pipe in his right hand, the other, as I have already said, having been cut off in the mines. Then he laid down the pipe by his side with the stem near his mouth. The next movement was to take a kind of long rod, called a dipper, with a sharp end and a little flattened. This he dipped in the opium which had the consistency of thick molasses. He twisted the dipper round and then held the drop which adhered to it over the lamp, which was near him. He wound the dipper round and round until the opium was roasted and had a brown colour. He then thrust the end of the dipper with the prepared drug into the opening of the pipe, which was somewhat after the Turkish style with its long stem. He next held the bowl of the pipe over the lamp until the opium frizzled. Then putting the stem of the pipe in his mouth he inhaled the smoke, and almost immediately exhaled it through the mouth and nostrils. While smoking he removed the opium, going through the same process as before, and it all took about fifteen minutes. What the old man's feelings were he did not tell us, but he seemed very contented, as if then he cared for nothing, as if he had no concern for the world and its trials. But one must read the graphic pages of Thomas De Quincey in his "Confessions of an English Opium Eater," in order to know what are the joys and what the torments of him who is addicted to the use of the pernicious drug. It was while De Quincey was in Oxford that he came under its tyranny. At first taken to allay neuralgic pain, and then resorted to as a remedy on all occasions of even the slightest suffering, it wove its chain around him like a merciless master who puts his servant in bonds. But though given to its use all his life afterwards, in later years he took it moderately. Still he was its slave. A man of marvellous genius, a master of the English tongue, he had not full mastery of his own appetite; and one of such talent, bound Andromeda-like to the rock of his vice, ready to be devoured in the sea of his perplexity by what is worse than the dragon of the story, he deserves our pity, nay, even our tears. He tells us how he was troubled with tumultuous dreams and visions, how he was a participant in battles, strifes; and how agonies seized his soul, and sudden alarms came upon him, and tempests, and light and darkness; how he saw forms of loved ones who vanished in a moment; how he heard "everlasting farewells;" and sighs as if wrung from the caves of hell reverberated again and again with "everlasting farewells." "And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, 'I will sleep no more!'"
CHAPTER IX
MUSIC, GAMBLING, EATING, THEATRE-GOING
In Chinatown—A Musician's Shop—A Secret Society—Gambling Houses—"The
Heathen Chinee"—Fortune-telling—The Knife in the Fan-Case—A Boarding
House—A Lesson for Landlords—A Kitchen—A Goldsmith's Shop—The
Restaurant—Origin of the Tea-Plant—What a Chinaman Eats—The Tobacco
or Opium Pipe—A Safe with Eight Locks—The Theatre—Women by
Themselves—The Play—The Stage—The Actors—The Orchestra and the
Music—The Audience—A Death on the Stage—The Theatre a Gathering
Place—No Women Actors—A Wise Provision—Temptations—Real Acting—Men
the Same Everywhere.
The reader will now accompany us to a musician's shop in our wanderings through Chinatown. This is located in a basement and is a room about fifteen feet wide and some twenty feet deep. This son of Jubal from the Flowery Kingdom was about fifty-five years old and a very good-natured man. He received us with a smile, and when he was requested by the guide to play for us he sat down before an instrument somewhat like the American piano, called Yong Chum. The music was of a plaintive character, and was lacking in the melody of a Broadwood or a Steinway. Then he played on another instrument which resembled a bandore or banjo and was named Sem Yim. Afterwards he took up a Chinese flute and played a tune, which was out of the ordinary and was withal of a cheerful nature. He then showed us something that was striking and peculiar—a Chinese fiddle with two strings. The bow strings were moved beneath the fiddle strings. The music was by no means such as to charm one, and you could not for a moment imagine that you were listening to a maestro playing on a Cremona. The Chinese, while they have a reputation for philosophy after the example of their great men, like Confucius and Mencius, and while there are poets of merit among them like Su and Lin, yet can not be said to excel in musical composition and rendering. The tune with which our Chinese friend sought to entertain us on his fiddle was, "A Hot Time in the Old Town To-night." He thought this would be agreeable to our American ears. Meanwhile I glanced around this music-room and among other things I saw, and which interested me, were several effigies of men, characters in Chinese history. Some were no doubt true to life while others were caricatures of the persons whom they represented. It might be styled an Eden Musée.
Leaving the musician's, after giving him a suitable fee for entertaining us, we turned our footsteps towards the Chee Kung Tong. This is a Chinese secret society. The Chinese are wont to associate themselves together, even if they do not mingle much with men of other nations. They have their gatherings for social purposes and for improvement and pastime, and, like the Anglo-Saxon and the Latin races, they have their mystic signs and passwords. Of course we were not permitted to enter the Chee Kung Tong Hall, however much we desired to cross its mysterious threshold. The door was well guarded, and Chinamen passing in had to give assurance that they were entitled to the privilege. On the night when the detective from Police Headquarters accompanied us we made an attempt to enter a Chinese gambling house. The entrance even to this was well guarded; although the sentinel unwittingly left the door open for a moment as a Chinaman was passing in. The detective seeing his opportunity went in boldly and bade us to follow him. In a few moments all was confusion. We heard hurrying feet in the adjoining room, and then excited men appeared at the head of the passage way and waved their arms to and fro while they talked rapidly in high tones. Outside already some fifty men had collected together, and these were also talking and gesticulating wildly. The detective then said to us that it would be wise to retreat and leave the place lest we might meet with violence. We did so, but the uproar among the Chinese did not subside for some time. We pitied the poor sentinel who had allowed us to slip in, for we knew that he would be severely punished after our departure. The Chinese are noted for their gambling propensities, and there are many gambling houses in Chinatown. This vice is one of their great pastimes, and whenever they are not engaged in business they devote themselves either to gambling, the amusements of the theatre, the pleasures of the restaurant, or the seductive charms of the opium pipe.
Later in my saunterings I went into a kind of restaurant, where I saw a number of Chinese men and boys playing cards and dominoes and dice. They went on with the games as if they were oblivious to us. I noticed there were Chinese coins of small value on the tables, and some of the players were apparently winning while others were losing. The latter, however, gave no indication that they were in the least degree disappointed. Of course, as a rule they play after their own fashion, having their own games and methods. Minister Wu, of Washington, when asked recently if he liked our American games, replied that he did not understand any of them. No doubt this is true of the majority of Chinamen in the United States. In thinking of the Chinese and gambling one always recalls Bret Harte's "Plain Language From Truthful James of Table Mountain," popularly known as "The Heathen Chinee," one of the best humorous poems in the English language. You can fairly see the merry eyes of the author of the "Argonauts of '49" dancing with pleasure as he describes the game of cards between "Truthful James," "Bill Nye" and "Ah Sin."