declared ready, and the bride escorted by her chaperon returned to the
reception hall where the tables were spread. One table was reserved
especially for her, and there she was placed in solitary state facing
the entire roomful of guests. Not so the groom, who occupied a side
table in the midst of a group of friends. The bride’s wedding veil
had been removed, but the helmet remained, having assumed meanwhile
a somewhat tipsy air, as if the head underneath was too weary to
hold it steady or in the merry-making it had been jarred out of its
equilibrium. But no hand offered to adjust it, and least of all could
the girl herself do so. She sat immovable, her eyes downcast, her face
as impassive as a Buddha’s. Dish after dish of tempting Chinese food
was put before her, to be taken away untouched. While others all over
the room were eating and chattering happily, she continued mute and
alone. A break came when the wine was served. Lifting one of the little
silver wine cups in both hands the groom passed it to the chief guest,
who received it in his two hands, and after taking a sip returned the
cup to the groom. He presented it likewise to each of the principal
guests, and last of all to his bride amid an outburst of merriment from
the interested spectators. It was then the bride’s turn. Whatever may
have been her inner feelings, she betrayed no sign of emotion as she
stepped calmly from one to another with the cup and ended by placing
it in the hands of the groom, while the guests cheered and laughed
uproariously.
With this ceremony the feast broke up but not the wedding festivities.
They continued unabated till early morning. During the evening, four of
the bride’s brothers came in, but they did not seek her out. The men,
including the groom, stayed below to carouse and gamble. Upstairs the
young friends of the bride gathered around her once more and prepared
for a wild frolic. First, according to custom, they demanded a gift,
whereupon one of her woman servants distributed boxes of Chinese
confections among them, prepared for this purpose. After that she was
put through a series of ridiculous performances for the amusement of
her persecutors, such as crawling, hopping, skipping, crowing. When
at last dawn streaked the sky and the house lights went out with the
departing guests, is it a wonder that the exhausted little bride of
eighteen sank down on the nearest couch and cried herself to sleep?
XII
FOREIGN PHILANTHROPIES
A bishop visiting in Shanghai said he should sometime like to write a
book on the “cries” of China. It would make interesting reading. The
cries are many and diverse. Most coolies, for example, whether on land
or water, work to the accompaniment of a rhythmical chant, and though
the poor fellows, carrying heavy burdens, fairly gasp in their effort
to continue the vocal exercise while under the strain of physical
exertion, they seem unable to proceed without it.
In the early days, when foreigners first settled in Shanghai, it is
related that house servants, as they carried food to and from the
table, indulged in the usual monotonous sing-song till the distracted
diners peremptorily put a stop to the habit.
But of all the cries known to China, the most pitiful is the cry of the
children, the sharp insistent wail of suffering childhood that ascends
night and day all over this great land. Had Mrs. Browning visited the
Far East she would surely have been impelled to pen another noble poem
on the “Cry of the Children” whose pathos would have pierced the heart
of the world. Many people believe slavery in China is a thing of the
past, as a multitude imagine foot-binding is no longer practised. It is
true that edicts from time to time have gone forth abolishing slavery,
but they have not been enforced and old customs die hard. The most that
can be said is that this hydra-headed monster no longer stalks abroad
as openly and unchallenged as formerly, though that the evil exists no
one who knows conditions can for a moment deny.
Out from the centre of the noisy city, where the fields are green and
the air pure and fresh, stands a substantial red brick building. The
presiding genius is a sweet-faced, motherly woman in the garb of a
Protestant Episcopal deaconess. “Is this the Slave Girls’ Refuge?” asks
the visitor. “It is the Children’s Refuge.” Then, with a deprecatory
smile, “We are leaving the word ‘slave’ out now because we want to do
all we can to help the children forget their sad past.” The house is
plain, not a dollar wasted on ornamentation, and filled to overflowing.
Built to accommodate seventy-five, last year a hundred and fifty-six
were crowded into it. Little cots line the upper verandas, and the
superintendent’s bedroom is turned into a day nursery for the smallest
tots. “You surely ought to have one spot you could call your very own,”
exclaims the half indignant visitor. “I should find it restful and
pleasant, but with my big family I can’t manage it,” and the ever ready
smile again illumines the kind face.
[Illustration: RESCUED CHILD JUST BROUGHT TO THE CHILDREN’S REFUGE]
[Illustration: OLD MEN AT THE HOME OF THE LITTLE SISTERS OF THE POOR]
This work, which is undenominational, was started by a band of
Christian women after the upheaval of 1900, although the present
building was not occupied till ten years later. Now, in so short a
time, it has been outgrown, and the need for an addition is imperative.
The children range in age from three to twenty, for some have been in
the Home a long time and developed into useful assistants. Most of the
little ones are rescued by the police, who take them to the Municipal
Mixed Court, and from there they are turned over to the Refuge. And
what eventually becomes of these waifs? A few are returned to parents
from whom they have been stolen, others are adopted by families or
mission schools, while a large number die, too weakened because of ill
treatment to resist disease. Occasionally there is a simple wedding at
the Refuge and a girl goes out from it to a home of her own. Shanghai
is a great slave market. Children are sent and brought here from all
over China, kidnappers having a large hand in the shameful trade.
Parents frequently sell their own offspring, for there are many mouths
to feed and rice is often very, very scarce. Only girls are slaves.
They become the property, body, mind, and soul, of their owners, who
may do with them as they like. Their pitiful little life stories are
almost too harrowing to repeat. A baby of five had its flesh pinched
with red-hot irons, another of six was tied to a post for days without
food, having had hot needles run under her nails. One was three times
buried alive. A mite three years old, nearly dead from neglect and
starvation, weighed only ten pounds when brought to the Refuge. A
doctor counted on the body of a bleeding child two hundred and forty
cuts, burns, and bruises. One was brought in with an arm twisted out
of shape and an eyelid nearly torn away. A little slave, after repeated
beatings that almost crushed the life out of her, was thrown by her
mistress on an ash-heap to die. When rescued and sent to the Refuge her
mind seemed clouded. She took scarcely any notice of her surroundings,
but if any one approached her the poor child shrieked in terror. “You
are going to kill me! I know you are going to kill me!” “A few weeks
later,” said the superintendent, tears filling her eyes as she told
the story, “the little thing was following me around everywhere,
repeating softly to herself, ‘Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me.’” How
the superintendent with her great warm heart mothers her flock! The
more marred, feeble, and wretched they are the more her love surrounds
them. And it is most wonderful how these little bruised, neglected
plants, blossom out under her tender care. Until recently she was the
only foreigner in charge of the work. While so many others flit away
in the fierce heat of summer for a breath of cool air, this faithful
worker remains, season after season, at her post. “I can not leave the
children,” she will urge. But she asks no one’s commiseration, for a
happier heart is not to be found in China.
There is a shelter called “The Home for Waifs and Strays” at quite
the opposite side of Shanghai. It gathers in a somewhat different
class of children, not many slaves, but outcasts, down to new-born
infants picked up on the street by the police. Many of the children are
mentally deficient and some suffer from incurable diseases. A devoted
Christian woman is at the head of the Home, which receives its support
from the Municipal Council, by whom the work was inaugurated several
years ago.
A new building has just been completed close to the Children’s Refuge,
which so long stood entirely alone in the midst of cultivated fields.
It is the home of the School for Blind Boys. No charity is more
appealing in a country where diseased eyes, leading to partial or
total blindness, are so fearfully common. The school opened its doors
only three years ago in a rented house, yet the mental development of
the boys has been most remarkable. There is certain to arise soon an
insistent demand for blind teachers for the blind, and the purpose of
the school is to give their boys a general education which will qualify
them for that work. It also has a growing industrial department, and
the Blind School, like the Children’s Refuge, is in part supported by
the sale of its products. The plan is later to establish on the same
site a similar school for girls.
One of the best known institutions in Shanghai is the Door of Hope.
As the name implies it is intended to succor girls bound by a slavery
the most cruel of all. No other city in the country contains as many
brothels as Shanghai. It is often called the Sodom of China, and is
known to many of the native Christians away from the coast only as
the Far Country of the Prodigal Son. Sadly enough, the presence of
degenerate foreigners is largely responsible for the sin laid at the
gates of the gay metropolis.
It is safe to say that the majority of Chinese girls found in houses of
ill-fame are there through no fault of their own. Kidnappers dispose
in this way of many of the children they have stolen. Often parents,
particularly in famine times, sell their little daughters, choosing in
their ignorance such a fate for them rather than to see them die of
starvation.
The “Receiving Home” is in an alley-way just off Nanking Road, which
is the Piccadilly of Shanghai. Several years ago a few philanthropic
and influential Chinese gentlemen succeeded in securing from the
International Municipality the passage of a law whereby a notice was
placed in each brothel telling of the Receiving Home and how to reach
it. Another law was passed at the same time prohibiting brothels from
accepting girls under fourteen. Both of these statutes have gradually
been allowed to become dead letters, and little or no attention is now
paid to them. A rescued girl stays in the Receiving Home only over
night, or until her case is brought up in the Mixed Court and she is
committed to the Door of Hope. This building is in the outskirts of the
city, far removed from the crowded, dangerous district with which the
girls have grown too familiar. For obvious reasons, although all are
under the same roof, it has been found wise to separate the first-year
girls from those of the second year. This charity is supported by
grants from the Municipal Council together with voluntary gifts and the
sale of industrial work. The Door of Hope dolls are famed far and wide.
The little wooden heads, beautifully carved, are the only parts of the
dolls not made by the girls. Shanghai firms gladly donate in abundance
bright-coloured scraps of silk, satin, and cotton cloth. The dolls
are dressed to represent all grades and classes of society, and a set,
consisting of sixteen, is of real value educationally.
The first-year girls spend the morning in study and the afternoon in
work. They begin by learning to make their own clothes, cloth shoes
and all, then when the tailor’s trade has been thoroughly mastered,
they are set to dressing dolls. For this work a slight compensation is
given which acts as a spur and encouragement. The second-year girls
are busy all day at their embroidery frames with a little schooling
in the evening. They receive regular pay and are expected in the main
to clothe themselves. The embroidery is exquisitely fine and dainty
and there is a constant call for it, both in and out of Shanghai,
especially from prospective brides and mothers. In the long, cheerful
work-room, lined on both sides with windows, the sixty or more girls
of the second year gather each morning at eight o’clock for prayers.
Half an hour later, the embroidery frames are laid out on small tables,
and materials unrolled to the accompaniment of happy chatter. When all
is in readiness to begin, a sudden hush falls on the room, as some one
points to the text for the day on a Scripture calendar hanging on the
wall. This is repeated in concert, followed by a brief prayer from one
of the girls. It is a sweet custom and seems to give just the right
start to the day. The calendar is compiled annually by a Chinese woman
living in Shanghai.
It is not necessary to ask if the girls are happy. Their bright,
contented faces show that. Few are inherently bad. Only once in a long
while some one tires of the quiet routine and revolts or runs away.
But it is natural that they should crave change and the sight of a face
from the outside world is eagerly welcomed. Noticing this, a foreign
lady living in the neighbourhood once asked the girls in relays to her
home for afternoon tea. The day the first-year girls were present, one
of them, pointing to the piano, turned to the missionary in charge with
the question, “What is that black box?” It was explained to her that
it was a musical instrument, and when later it was played upon, the
delight of the girls was unbounded. An American visitor was so touched
by the incident that she secured for the Door of Hope the gift of a
splendid victrola which, being a thing of beauty, is likewise sure to
prove a joy forever.
Most of those who enter the Door of Hope, after a few months or a
year, become earnest Christians, and sooner or later are married to
Christian men. In China it is considered no disgrace to marry a fallen
girl, provided she has changed her way of living. One girl who was
recently married to a minister made such a favourable impression on her
husband’s friend that he went to the Home begging that he be given a
wife just like her. “But how are these poor girls for whom often a very
large sum of money has been paid, rescued from their owners?” asks the
puzzled caller. Ah, it is here that a ray of light streams through the
darkness. There is a law in China, yes, and a very old law too, that no
woman can be made to lead a life of shame against her will. If she has
a chance to express herself in court, she may choose the better way,
and no one is allowed to oppose her. The difficulty is to escape from
bondage and secure the chance to voice a protest. Besides, many are too
young to speak for themselves, like the baby of three, who the other
day was carried to a brothel in the arms of her own father and offered
for sale. The keepers prefer to buy very young children, as they cost
little and can be used as singing girls during their early years.
Five miles out from Shanghai, in a pleasant farming district, is the
children’s branch of the Door of Hope. In this beautiful protected
spot, a hundred and sixty little ones, snatched from the horrible pit
in which they had been thrown, live happily together. With the blessed
forgetfulness of childhood, the past soon fades into indistinctness,
till it is well-nigh effaced from their memory. The cottage system is
in vogue, and the big family is divided up into groups of about twenty.
Each cottage has its house-mother, one of the older, trusted girls from
the City Home, and all are under the care of two devoted foreigners.
The hours are filled with house-work, studies, simple industries,
gardening, play. If a girl shows special aptitude, she is sent in time
to a mission school, where the curriculum is broader and better adapted
to her largest development. As soon as the children are old enough,
they are trained in evangelistic work, such as teaching in Ragged
Sunday-Schools and holding village prayer meetings. Practically every
one ripens into a genuine little Christian.
Two of the most striking philanthropies in Shanghai are conducted by
the Roman Catholics. If there is a class of society that draws on
one’s sympathies even more than friendless children, it is friendless
old people, since their capacity for conscious suffering is greater.
A most admirable characteristic of the Chinese is their usually kind
treatment of the aged. Filial piety shines its brightest in poverty
stricken homes, where real sacrifice is required to provide for the
parents, who are often much better able to care for themselves than
their children are for them. But very many are left alone in the world
without food or shelter, or money to buy a coffin in which they would
so gladly lie down and die.
The Catholic Home for indigent old people is popularly known by the
name given to the Sisters of Charity in charge of it, “The Little
Sisters of the Poor.” The capacious three-story building shelters a
hundred and fifty old men and as many old women, which is all it will
hold. But as fast as any die others are ready to take their places,
for there is always a long waiting list. The only conditions of
admission to the Home are that the applicant must be over sixty and
wholly without means of support. Most of those taken in are seventy or
more. One might easily imagine that a place like this, which gathers
under its roof so many old people, whose lives for the most part
have been spent in the midst of poverty and filth, and with never an
idea of cleanly habits, would be anything but inviting. Yet it is a
sort of Eden, not a speck of dirt on the well-scrubbed floors, not a
bad or even a close smell in the big airy rooms, not a spot on the
white bed curtains and pretty patch-work coverlids made by the old
people from the scraps sent in from the shops. And as for the inmates
enjoying themselves, why the faces of the dear old souls fairly radiate
happiness! They are allowed tobacco and plenty of tea and chatter like
magpies over their pipes and cups. In order not to make life under the
new conditions terrifying for them, a weekly bath is not insisted on,
but clean, neatly mended garments are donned every Sunday morning. When
sick, the simple-minded folk are attended by old-fashioned Chinese
medicine men, instead of foreign trained doctors whose new-fangled
ways the patients would spurn. All who are able to work have regular
duties, spinning, laundering, tailoring, nursing. The women’s quarters
are on one side of the building, and the men’s on the other, with the
chapel between them. “Yes,” says the Sister Superior, stopping a moment
as she passes in front of the altar to kneel and make the sign of the
Cross, “the chapel is in the centre, so you see it is God who divides
and God who unites us.” Several of the Sisters are Chinese, and one
round-faced novitiate works in the kitchen, where the shining brass
and copper vessels call to mind “Father Lawrence” and his immaculate
domain. No Chinese girl can enter as an “aspirant” to the privileges of
sisterhood, unless she belongs to the third generation of Christians.
Shanghai’s great show-place is the Catholic institution at Siccawei, a
suburban village named after the Jesuit missionaries’ patron saint. No
one coming to the city willingly leaves without seeing it, certainly
not if the visitor is a woman. For the laces and embroideries made
under the direction of the French Sisters are the very quintessence of
artistic loveliness, and the salesroom is seldom empty.
More than fifty years ago, at the close of the T’aiping Rebellion,
the Jesuits, after many persecutions and vicissitudes, returned to
Shanghai, from whence they had fled, and settled at Siccawei. There
they began a small work, which has steadily grown till it has reached
almost gigantic proportions. Clustered about the Cathedral, glaringly
modern and capacious, whose tall spires are a landmark in all the
country round, are the old church, a men’s college and theological
seminary, observatory, museum, orphanages, schools, and industrial
plants. The women’s and girls’ buildings are on one side of a tidal
creek, and those of the men and boys on the other. Asked some question
by a stranger about the boys’ work, the Sister addressed replied in a
tone of finality, “I can’t tell you. I know no more about what is going
on over there than you do.” Each Sister is assigned her own duties
for which she is responsible, and gives herself to them exclusively.
There are fifty Sisters, more than two-thirds of whom are Chinese. The
spirituelle expression seen sometimes on the faces of these Chinese
recluses, is most remarkable. The foreign Sisters are all French. No
one can doubt their devotion. They take no vacation; they never go home
on furlough. Several have been at their posts over forty years.
It is a large household the Sisters have under their care, averaging
in number seventeen hundred, but the work is so divided and runs
with such systematic regularity that there is no suggestion of
friction or confusion. First in order come the foundlings. Each day,
tiny, new-born babes are brought into the Home, or often left at the
gate in the darkness of the night. None are turned away. They are
washed, dressed, laid in clean little cribs, and as soon as possible
baptised with a Christian name in the chapel on the premises. Many
are so frail when they enter, that a few brief hours or days end
their troubled existence. Next are the day-schools of various grades
for Catholic children, the large orphanage, and the boarding-school
for non-Christian or pagan children, as the Sisters call them, with
playground, dormitories, dining and school rooms entirely separate
from the others. In a secluded corner of the grounds live the sixty
unfortunates, who are either blind, crippled, or mentally deficient.
Their chief occupation is spinning cotton by the aid of crude spinning
wheels, something the dullest are found capable of learning to do.
But it is through its industrial department that Siccawei is best
known to the general public. Hundreds of women are employed in making
lace and embroidery, most of them having been reared in the Home,
and married from it to Catholic husbands whose earning capacity
is insufficient for the family needs. A day nursery and school is
maintained for the babies and young children of the employees. The work
rooms are of enormous size and well lighted. In the centre of each
one, on a raised platform, sits a Sister, overlooking the women. The
proceeds from the sale of work are very large.
The industrial plant for the men and boys, on the other side of
the creek, is even more elaborate. It includes many departments,
wood-carving, carpentry, shoemaking, work in iron and brass,
glass-blowing, painting in oils and water colours, and a printing
establishment. The genial Father in charge of the wood-carving and
carpentering, is in his line a genius. Some of the work turned out
under his supervision is wonderfully beautiful, and ranks among the
finest specimens of Chinese art sent to the Panama Exposition. The
youngest apprentices, lads of ten or twelve, begin their industrial
training by making little coffins for the foundlings across the way.
“Yes,” Father B. is in the habit of remarking, pointing to the boys
with a smile, “they start in life where others leave off.” The Siccawei
Mission is self-perpetuating within the limits of its own constituency.
Growth comes through the ever inflowing stream of helpless humanity.
But no effort is put forth, either by the missionaries or Chinese
communicants, to reach the unevangelized masses. Formerly this work was
subsidized from France, but it now depends for support wholly on the
sale of its industries and voluntary contributions.
All Shanghai philanthropies from time to time receive liberal donations
from the Chinese themselves, many of whom understand and genuinely
appreciate what is being done for their people. The recent founding of
the Society of Organized Charities (Protestant) has aided greatly in
carrying on systematic work in behalf of the deserving poor.
XIII
CHINESE SUCCESSES IN SOCIAL SERVICE
Several years ago a company of lepers numbering about forty, living
in one of the southern provinces of China, were driven from their
miserable shacks and burned alive. When the official by whose order
the atrocious deed was committed was called to account for it, he
excused himself by saying that since the lepers were public nuisances,
mere cumberers of the ground, he decided that the sooner they were
out of the way the better. Such was his idea of social service and
he represents a class in China who regard calamities like famine,
flood, and pestilence as heaven-sent blessings to relieve the land
of its superfluous population. But to the educated youth, touched by
the spirit of a common brotherhood, and to the better elements of an
earlier generation the incident just related is as abhorrent as it can
possibly be to a Westerner.