The town of Canton is surrounded by a thick wall. Every street in the city has a gate which is locked at eight every night, the heavy iron doors are bolted and no one is allowed to enter or go out of Canton. All the junks and sampans stand in a line along the bank and are strictly forbidden to come alongside Shamin at night. At nine o’clock in the evening the guards on the bridges beat the retreat, making a terrible noise with drums, maddening tom-toms and pipes several yards long. Thousands of crackers are let off. To crown all the retreat ends by loud gun-shots.

We went to bed in the dark, our sole light consisted of a piece of candle stuck on a tea-saucer. We passed a troublesome, sleepless night, trembling with cold. The dampness mounted from the river by an aperture broken through the ceiling for ventilation. The deafening sound of gongs seemed to rend the air at equal intervals, making noise enough to wake the “Sleeping Beauty.” Every quarter of an hour the sound of tom-toms resounded, and immediately after, the sentinels sent up their watch-cry accompanied by the beating of drums and the ringing of bells. The Chinese make all this noise through superstition to chase away the evil spirit!

January 10th.—In spite of our fireless, chilly room, we did not escape the bites of vicious mosquitos and were half devoured by swarms of wretched insects.

At six o’clock in the morning a boy naked down to the waist, his long plait rolled round his head, brought us our coffee. It is Sunday to-day. Being too late for Mass, both in the Cathedral and the Protestant church, we went for a walk round Shamin, which took us altogether half an hour. Before the “English Settlement,” joining the “French Concession,” there spreads a large tennis-ground.

After tiffin six palanquins were at the door to carry us through the town of Canton. Our guide advised us to dress quietly so as not to attract too much attention. Our palanquin-carriers, thin, emaciated creatures, started at a small trot. As soon as we had crossed the French Bridge and entered Canton, I began to feel seriously uneasy. We were carried through the labyrinth of narrow, muddy evil-smelling streets crowded with humanity; pigs and rooks are their only cleaners. Our carriers advanced with difficulty through the crowd, elbowing the people. There is no foot-way, and at the corners our porters shouted “ho-ho, hi-ha!” to make the people avoid the path, scattering them to right and left. The streets are full of shops, banners, Chinese lanterns, bizarre sign-boards hang down to the ground. On the portico of the houses we saw hideous faced idols, guardians of the thresholds, to whom the Chinese burn red candles with painted flowers and little incense “Joss-sticks” (Joss is a god) to propitiate the demons. A Chinese “Punch and Judy” were acting on a little stage in a street. We saw legions of lepers at each corner, and were accosted by sordid beings exposing terrible sores. I had a creepy sensation as we passed groups of evil-looking natives eyeing us with evident malevolent curiosity, which threatened to become hostile. Angry murmurs rose behind us. We heard strong epithets used on our behalf; they shouted after us “Fan-Quai,” which meant “Dogs of the West,” and made menacing gestures. It was old women and children who were the most aggressive; a little boy pulled a tongue a yard long to me. I felt suddenly a hand grasping my arm, and a brutal-looking young Chinaman gave me such a stare that I felt quite uncomfortable. I endeavoured to look unconcerned, but did not know what to do all the same, whether to smile or to maintain a stern countenance. I heaved a sigh of relief when our carriers stopped before the “Pagoda of the five hundred geniuses,” which contains life-sized statues made of gilded wood, one more grotesque than the other, placed on granite pedestals, an idol with six eyes and ears down to the neck, poured down from four pairs of hands his blessings; another with three faces held a sort of mandoline in his hands. A statue with European features and clothes, wearing a Rembrandt hat, personified “Marco Polo” the renowned Venetian explorer of the sixteenth century, the first European who penetrated into China. I wonder how that personage had come to attain the rank of a god. We were carried afterwards to the Roman Catholic cathedral, where Christian natives, in Chinese dress, knelt near the altar listening to the litanies sung in Chinese language by a priest wearing the Chinese costume. We went slowly round the cathedral and admired the beautiful stained glass-windows, in which figures of saints stood, and paintings representing diverse subjects from the Bible adapted to Chinese life. The figure of Christ blessing a Chinese woman with children clinging to her skirts, especially attracted our attention.

I was delighted when we were brought back to Shamin.

CHAPTER CX
MACAO

January 11th.—This morning we took our passage to Macao on an English steamer named The White Cloud. I turned my back to Canton with great pleasure. I think China is a frightful country and wish I had never set foot in it.

After eight hours of crossing, the Portuguese peninsula came to view. We saw about a hundred cannons on the high forts, protecting Macao from the side of the sea. Two hundred years have gone by since the shores of Macao, the oldest European Colony in the Orient, were first visited by Europeans; in 1720 the Portuguese landed and took possession of it in the name of their Sovereign. The front of the town bears the inscription in Portuguese: Cita de nome de Dios, não ha outra mas leal. (City in the name of God, there does not exist a more loyal one.)