'Bottomless perdition.'--_Milton._
Fog and cloud! Nothing can be seen from the bastions of the castle of
the Holy Trinity, to the right or to the left, in front or in the rear,
but dense, motionless, snowy mist; a spectral image of that deluge-wrath
which, as it rose to sweep o'er earth, once broke against these stern,
steep cliffs and beetling peaks of rock: no trace is to be seen of the
buried valley, for the ghostly waves of the cold, white sea of foam
shroud it closely in their stifling veils; the glowing face of the
crimson sun shines not as yet upon earth's winding sheet of silent,
clinging, pallid vapor.
The tower of the castle stands upon a bold and naked granite peak. Built
of the strong rock from which it soars by the giant labor of the now
dying Past, it seems during the lapse of centuries to have grown up from
its stony heart, as the human breast grows from the broad back of the
Centaur. A single banner streams above its lofty turret, the only banner
of the Cross now raised on earth; the symbol of God's mystic love alone
floats high enough to pierce into the unclouded blue of the stormy sky!
The white and sleeping mist gradually awakens; the sighing and howling
of the bleak winds are heard above; the vapor palpitates in the first
rays of the coming sun, and a drifting ice-floe of curdling clouds
drives wildly o'er this quickening sea of fog and foam.
Other voices, human voices, mingle with the wails and sobs of the
passing storm: borne upward on the ghastly waves of the spectral cloud
sea, they break against the walls of the granite castle.
The pallid shroud of mist is suddenly riven, and through the walls of
the chasm torn through the heart of the white foam, glimpses are seen of
the abyss below.
How dark it looks in the depths! A sea of heads in wild commotion surges
there; the valley swarms with human life as ocean's slimy sands with
creeping things that writhe and sting.
The sun! the sun! He mounts above the rocky peaks; the pallid vapors
rise in blood and melt in gold, and as they roll and lift into the sky,
more and more distinctly grow upon the view the threatening swarms of
men still gathering below.
The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds and scales the craggy
cliffs; it dies softly away into the blue depths of the infinite sky.
The valley glitters like a sea of light, throws back the dewy sunshine
in a dazzling glare, for every hand is armed with sharp and sparkling
blades and points of steel--and millions are seen pouring into its
depths, numberless as they will pour into the vale of the Last Judgment.
* * * * *
A cathedral church in the castle of the Holy Trinity.
Lords, senators, dignitaries are seen seated on either side, each
under the banner of a king or knight. Bands of nobles stand behind
the banners. The Archbishop is in front of the high altar, a choir
of stoled Priests kneel behind and around it. The Man appears,
pauses a few moments on the threshold of the church, then advances
slowly up the aisle to the Archbishop, holding a banner in his
hand.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS. O God of our fathers! we, Thy last priests, pray in
the last church of Thy Son now standing upon earth for the faith of our
ancestors! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord our God!
FIRST COUNT. See with what pride Count Henry regards us.
SECOND COUNT. As if the whole universe were at his feet.
THIRD COUNT. And yet he has done nothing but cut his way through the
camp of the peasants at night!
FIRST COUNT. He left one hundred, nay, it is reported, two hundred of
their men dead upon the place of combat.
SECOND COUNT. Let us object to his appointment as general-in-chief.
THE MAN (_kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop_). I lay my trophy at
thy feet!
ARCHBISHOP (_giving him a sword_). Gird this sword upon thee; it was
once consecrated to Saint Florian!
MANY VOICES. Long live Count Henry! Vivat! vivat!
ARCHBISHOP. And thus sealing thee with the sign of the cross, I commit
to thy hands the sole command of this, our last fortress and refuge upon
earth.
It is the universal wish that thou shouldst assume the rank of
general-in-chief.
MANY VOICES. Long live our general! Vivat! vivat!
A VOICE. I will not give my consent to the appointment!
MANY VOICES. Away with the objector! Long live Count Henry!
THE MAN. If any one present have just cause to reproach me, let him
proclaim it openly, and not hide himself in the crowd!
He pauses; no one responds.
I accept this sword from thy hands, most reverend father; and may God
send me an early and sudden death if I fail to deliver thee!
CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Gift him with power, O God; and let Thy Holy Spirit
descend upon him! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord!
THE MAN. Let us all, princes, knights, and nobles, take a solemn oath to
defend the glory and fame of our fathers!
Let us swear that though hunger and thirst may lead us to death, they
shall not force us to dishonor!
Let us vow that no suffering shall induct us to capitulate, to yield one
of our just rights, or to sacrifice any of the duties due to our
Creator! Swear!
MANY VOICES. We swear.
The Archbishop elevates the Cross, they kneel and pledge their
faith.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS. The perjured Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!
The faint-hearted Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!
The traitor Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath O God!
THE MAN (_drawing his sword_). Keep the oath, and I promise glory--for
victory, pray to God!
He leaves the church, surrounded and followed by bands of knights,
nobles, etc.
* * * * *
A courtyard in the castle of the Holy Trinity. The Man, counts,
barons, princes, noblemen.
A COUNT (_leading the Man aside_). What--is all irretrievably lost?
THE MAN. Not all, unless your courage fail before the time.
THE COUNT. Before what time?
THE MAN. Before death!
A BARON (_leading him off on the other side_). It is reported that you
have seen and spoken with our dreadful foe, Count Henry. If we should
fall into his hands, will he have the least compassion upon us?
THE MAN. To tell you the truth, such compassion as our fathers never
dreamed could be shown to them: '_the gallows_!'
THE BARON. We must guard against that to the utmost of our power!
THE MAN. What says your excellency?
PRINCE. I must speak a few words alone with you, (_He draws Count Henry
aside_.) It is all very well to encourage our people, but you must
surely be aware that we can hold out no longer.
THE MAN. What else is left us, prince?
PRINCE. As you have been appointed chief, it is for you to propose the
terms of _capitulation_.
THE MAN. Not so loud....
PRINCE. Why not?
THE MAN. Because your excellency would thus forfeit your own life! (_He
turns to the men thronging around him._) He who speaks of surrender will
be punished with death!
BARON, COUNT, AND PRINCE (_together_.) He who speaks of surrender will
be punished with death!
ALL. With death! With death! Vivat! vivat!
EXEUNT.
* * * * *
The gallery of the tower. The Man. Jacob.
THE MAN. Where is my son, Jacob?
JACOB. He is in the north tower, seated on the threshold of the old
vault and dungeon, singing strange songs of prophecy.
THE MAN. Man the Leonoren bastion as strongly as possible, stir not from
the spot, and make constant use of the best glass to observe what
movements are going on among the forces of the besiegers.
JACOB. So help me God the Lord!
It were well to give a glass of brandy to our troops to keep up their
sinking courage.
THE MAN. If necessary, open the cellars of our counts and princes.
Exit Jacob.
THE MAN (_mounting some feet higher, and standing wider the banner upon
a small terrace_). With the whole power of my eyes I trace your plans;
with the concentrated hatred of my soul I surround you, my enemies! No
longer with a single voice, or with a vain enthusiasm, am I to meet you;
but with the sharp swords and strength of men governed by my will I seek
our last encounter!
It is a noble thing to be the leader in this contest; to look even from
the bed of death, if so it must be, upon the strange power added to my
own single arm through the many wills subjected to my rule; and glorious
to gaze thus down upon you, my enemies, lying far below in the abyss and
crying up to me from the depths, as the damned cry up to heaven!
Yet a few hours more of time, and then I, with thousands of the
miserable wretches who have forgotten and renounced their God, will be
no more forever--but come what will, one day of life at least is left
me--I will enjoy it to the utmost--I will rule--combat--live! Is this my
last song?
The sun sets behind the cliffs; sinks in a long, dark shroud of
vapor--on every side his rays pour blood into the valley. Foreshadow of
my bloody death, I greet thee with a more sincere and faithful heart
than I was wont to salute the allurements of pleasure, deception,
enchantment, love, in the past days of my youth!
Not through low intrigue, through cunning skill, through laborious
effort, have I attained the fulfilment of my wishes; but suddenly and
unlocked for, as I have ever dreamed I would!
Ruler over those who were but yesterday my equals, I have reached the
aim of my ambition: I stand on the very threshold of the eternal sleep!
* * * * *
A hall in the castle lighted with torches; George reclining upon a
bed; the Man enters, and places his weapons upon a table.
THE MAN. Let a hundred men keep guard upon the bulwarks, the remainder
may repose after our long and exhausting combat!
VOICE (_without_). So help me God the Lord!
THE MAN. You must have been frightened, George, with the noise of our
attack, the firing of musketry, the cries of the soldiers!
But keep up your courage, my child; we shall not be taken to-day, nor
to-morrow.
GEORGE. I have indeed heard it all distinctly, but it is not that which
strikes terror to my heart; the thunder of the cannon flies on and is
here no longer--it is something else that haunts me, that appals me,
father!
THE MAN. You fear for me, George?
GEORGE. No. I know your hour has not yet struck.
THE MAN. A heavy weight has fallen from my heart to-day, for in the
plain below, scattered like autumn leaves, lie the corpses of our foes,
foiled in their fierce attack.
Come, George, we are alone, come! tell me all thy thronging thoughts; I
will listen to thee once more as of old in our own home!
GEORGE (_hurriedly_). Follow me, then--follow me, father! A dreadful
trial--sentence--is reëchoed here every night. Oh come with me!
He goes to a door in the wall hidden by a heavy fall of tapestry,
and opens it.
THE MAN. George! where art thou going? Who has made known to thee this
secret passage into endless vaults covered with eternal darkness? to
this black charnel house, where moulder the bones of earlier and
countless victims?
GEORGE. Where thine eye, accustomed to the sunshine, has no power to
pierce, my spirit presses forward.
Gloom roll on to gloom--and darkness gather unto darkness!
He enters the door, followed by his father, and rapidly descends
into the vault.
* * * * *
A long, vaulted, subterranean dungeon. Grates, bars, chains, and
broken instruments of torture. The Man, with a torch in his hand,
stands at the base of a great block of granite, on the top of which
stands George.
THE MAN. Come down to me, George, I implore!
GEORGE. Hearest thou not these voices? Seest thou not these forms?
THE MAN. All is still as the grave--and almost as dark. The light of the
torch is instantly swallowed up by the damp chill gloom around us!
GEORGE. Listen! Ever nearer! ever clearer! One after another they are
slowly filing on from the depths of the narrow vaults--they are solemnly
seating themselves below, far in the background; behind thee, father!
THE MAN. Thy madness is my damnation! Thy mind is wandering, my poor
child; thou art destroying the strength which I now so sorely need!
GEORGE. I see their pale and stately forms as they collect for fearful
judgment! I see the prisoner approach the dreadful bar, his tall form
seems.... I cannot discern his features--they float and flow like
morning mist! Hark!
CHORUS OF VOICES. We, once chained, beaten, tormented, choked with dust
and broken with stones, through the Power now given to our hands,
proceed in our turn to sentence!
We too will judge and torture; try and condemn; Satan himself will
delight to assume the execution of our sentence.
THE MAN. George, what dost thou see?
George. The prisoner! the prisoner, father! He wring his hands--O
father! father!
A VOICE. With thee dies out the accursed race; all its power, all its
passions, all its pride, have joined in thee to perish!
CHORUS OF VOICES. _Because thou hast loved nothing--revered nothing save
thyself and thine own thoughts--thou art condemned--art damned to all
eternity!_
THE MAN. I see nothing, but I hear from every side--above--below--sighs
and wails--judgment, threatening, and eternal doom!
GEORGE. The prisoner! he raises his haughty head as thou dost, father,
when thou art angered! He answers with proud words, as thou dost, when
thou scornest--father!
CHORUS OF VOICES. In vain! thou plead'st in vain! there is no redemption
for him more, in earth or heaven!
A VOICE. Yet another day of passing earthly glory, of all share in which
thine ancestors have robbed me and my brethren--and then thou fallest
forever--thou, with thy brethren!
Your burials will be, as once were ours, without the toll of holy
knells, without tears, sobs, or wailing mourners, without friends,
without relations, and you will die transfixed upon the same rock of
universal human pain!
THE MAN. I know you, wretched ghosts! wandering stars amid the angelic
hosts!
He goes forward into the darkness.
GEORGE. Father! go not into that fearful gloom! Father! in the name of
Jesus Christ--I implore--I conjure thee--father!
THE MAN (_turning toward his son_). Whom do you see below? Speak, and
tell me truly, George!
GEORGE. The prisoner--he is thyself, my father!
He is white as snow--gagged--chained--they drag him on--they torture
thee, my father!
I hear thy gasping breath--thy groans--thy sobs! (_He falls upon his
knees._) Forgive me, father! My mother shines through the dark--and
commands me to....
He falls back in a fainting fit.
THE MAN (_catching the falling boy in his arms_). This alone was
wanting! Ha! my own, my only child has led me to the brink of hell!
Mary--inexorable spirit! God!!
And thou, second Mary, to whom I have so often prayed!
Here then is the beginning of eternal darkness, eternal torture!...
Back! back into life! one day of glory is at least still left me! First
must I combat with my fellow men--and then for my eternal struggle!
CHORUS OF SPIRITS (_dying away in the distance_). _Because thou hast
loved nothing, revered nothing, save thyself and thine own
thoughts--thou art, damned to all eternity!_
* * * * *
A large hall in the castle of the Holy Trinity; arms and armor hang
upon the walls, with various Gothic ornaments. The Man; women,
children, some old men, and nobles are kneeling at his feet. The
Godfather stands in the centre of the hall, and crowds of men are
in the background.
THE MAN. No, no. By my son--by the memory of my wife--never! never!
VOICES OF WOMEN. Have mercy upon us! Hunger gnaws our bowels; our
children die of famine; fear is upon us day and night; have pity upon
us!
VOICES OF MEN. It still is time! Listen to the herald--dismiss not the
envoy!
GODFATHER. I regard not your reproaches, Count Henry, for my whole life
has been that of a good citizen.
If I have assumed the office of ambassador, which I am at this moment
fulfilling, it is because I understand the age in which we live, and
estimate our times aright.
Pancratius is, if I may so express myself, the representative of the
people....
THE MAN. Out of my sight, old man!--(_Aside to Jacob._) Bring a
detachment of soldiers hither!
Exit Jacob.
The women rise from their knees weeping and sobbing, and the men
draw back a few paces.
A BARON.--We are all lost, and through you alone, Count Henry!
SECOND BARON. We renounce all further obedience.
A PRINCE. Let us arrange for ourselves the terms of the surrender of
this castle with the worthy envoy!
GODFATHER. The great man who sent me here secures life to you all, if
you will enter into a league with him and acknowledge the justice of the
struggle of the century.
MANY VOICES. We acknowledge it.
THE MAN. You have sworn to me, and I have sworn to you, to die upon
these walls; I intend to keep my oath, and you shall be true to yours.
You are all to die with me!
Ha! can you indeed still wish to live?
Ha! ask the spirits of your fathers why, when living, they were guilty
of such continuous oppression, and why they ruled with so much
cruelty!--(_To a Count._) Why have you, count, oppressed your
serfs?--(_To another._) Why have you passed your youth in cards and
dice, and your life in the land of the stranger?--(_To another._) Why
have you crept before the great, and scorned the lowly?-(_To one of the
women._) Why did you not bring up your sons to defend you? As knights
and soldiers, they might then have served you now; but you have
preferred dealings with Jews and lawyers: call upon them, then, for life
and safety.--(_He rises and extends his arms toward them._) Why hasten
ye thus to shame? why wrap your last hours in shrouds of infamy?
On with me, ye knights and nobles! On, where bayonets glitter, swift
balls whistle!
Oh seek not the accursed gallows prepared for you by the New Men;
believe me, the masked and silent hangman stands waiting to throw the
rope of shame around your high-born throats!
A VOICE. He speaks the truth--to our bayonets!
ANOTHER VOICE. We die of hunger; there is no more food!
VOICES OF WOMEN. Our children! Your children! Mercy!
GODFATHER. I promise you safety--safety of life and limb....
THE MAN (_approaching the Godfather, and seizing him y the shoulder_).
Sacred person of the herald, go! Go, and hide thy gray hairs in the
tents of Jews and low mechanics, that I may not dye them in thine own
base blood!
Jacob enters with a division of armed men.
Take aim at this brow, furrowed with the folds of idle learning! Aim at
this liberty cap, which trembles on the brainless head before every
breath from the lips of a man!
The Godfather escapes.
ALL _cry, with one breath_: Bind Count Henry! Deliver him up to
Pancratius!
THE MAN. Wait but a single moment, lords! (_He goes from one soldier to
another._) Do you remember when we climbed a mountain's rocky slope, a
savage wild beast closely tracked our steps, and when you, frightened,
fell into a yawning chasm, I rescued you, and saved your life? You
were most grateful then. Have you forgotten it?--Jerome, we once
were cast away upon the Danube's craggy shore; we braved the waves,
and saved our lives; we were bold swimmers, and we helped each other
well!--Christophe, Hieronymus, you sailed with me upon the wild Black
Sea; we were young sailors then!--(_To others._) When the fire destroyed
your homes, who built your cottages anew?--(_To others._) You fled to me
from cruel lords, and I redressed your wrongs.--(_Addressing himself to
the men generally._) Reflect, and choose!... Speak! will you arm with me
to battle for our rights, or will you leave me here to die alone--with
haughty smiles upon my stiffening lips, because, among so many men, I
found no single _man_?
THE MEN. Long live Count Henry! we desert him not--vivat!
THE MAN. Let the remaining meat and brandy be shared among them; then
upon the walls!
SOLDIERS. Meat and brandy, and then upon the walls!
THE MAN. Go with them, Jacob, and in an hour be ready to renew the
fight!
JACOB. So help me God the Lord.
WOMEN. We curse thee, Count Henry, in the name of our innocent children!
OTHER VOICES. We, for our fathers!
OTHER VOICES. We, for our wives!
THE MAN. And I breathe curses on all craven souls!
* * * * *
The wall of the fortress of the Holy Trinity. Troops are lying
scattered about. Broken rocks and stones strew the ground, mingled
with pikes and guns; soldiers are running to and fro; the Man leans
against a bulwark, and Jacob stands beside him.
THE MAN (_putting his sword into its sheath_). There can be no greater
pleasure than to play at danger when we always win; and when the time
comes to lose, one cast of the die, and all is over!
JACOB. Our last broadside has driven them back for the moment, but I see
them below there, gathering to renew the storm; however, all is vain,
for since the world a world was, no one has ever escaped his destiny!
THE MAN. Are there any cartridges left?
JACOB. Neither balls nor grapeshot: everything has its end!
THE MAN. Bring then my son to me; I would embrace him once more!
Exit Jacob.
The smoke from the powder has dimmed my eyes; it seems to me as if the
valley were swelling up to my feet, and again sinking back to its place;
the socks crack, and cross each other at a thousand angles, and my
thoughts wander, flicker, quiver in the most fantastic forms. (_Seats
himself upon a wall._) It is not worth the trouble to be a man--nor even
an angel; the highest archangel must feel, after some centuries of
existence, as we do after a few years of our fleeting life, utter
weariness in his soul, and long, as we do, for mightier powers! Either
one must be God--or nothing....
Enter Jacob with George.
Take some of the men with you, go through the castle, and drive all
before you upon the walls!
JACOB. Counts, princes, bankers?
Exit Jacob.
THE MAN. Come to me, my dearest son! place thy thin hands in mine, while
I press my lips upon thy pure forehead; thy mother's brow was once as
white and smooth!
GEORGE. Before thy men took up their arms to-day, I heard mamma's voice;
her words came floating to me as soft and sweet as perfumed air; she
said to me: '_George, thou wilt come to me this very evening, and sit
down beside me_.'
THE MAN. Did she name me to thee?
GEORGE. She said: '_This very evening I expect my son_.'
THE MAN (_aside_). Is my strength to fail me, when I have almost reached
the end of the weary way? No, God will not permit it! For one moment's
fiery madness, I will be thy prisoner to all eternity!--(_Aloud_). Oh,
my son! forgive--forgive the fatal gift of life! We part; and knowest
thou for how long a time?
GEORGE. Take me with thee, father, and leave me not! I love thee; oh,
leave me not, my father--and I will draw thee on with me!
THE MAN. Our paths are widely sundered. Amid the choirs of happy angels
thou wilt forget thy father--thou wilt bring me down no drop of cooling
dew. O George! George! my son! my son!
GEORGE. What dreadful cries! I tremble, father. Louder and louder,
nearer and nearer comes the thunder of the cannon; the last hour--the
prophesied--draws near!
THE MAN. Jacob! quick--quick--here!
A band of counts and princes cross the courtyard. Jacob follows
with the soldiers.
A VOICE. You give us broken arms, and force us to the combat!
ANOTHER VOICE. Henry, have mercy on thyself!
THIRD VOICE. Weak, wearied, famished, drive us not upon the walls!
FOURTH VOICE. Where do they drive us? where?
THE MAN. To death!--(_To George, folding him in his arms._) With this
embrace I would fain bind thee to my heart forever, George! Alas! I know
our paths are widely sundered: it may not be, my son! my son!
Struck by a ball, George sinks dying in his arms.
VOICE (_from above_). To me! to me! pure spirit! Up to me, my son!
THE MAN. Ha! to my aid, soldiers! (_He draws his sword, and holds it
before the lips of the wounded boy._) The blade is crystal clear; no
moisture dims the cold and glittering steel! Breath and life already
gone! O George, my son!
Ha! they are upon me! On I on! They are at last but a sword's length
from me! Back! Back! into the abyss, ye sons of freedom. Back!
Rushing on of man, confusion, struggle.
* * * * *
Another part of the wall of the castle. Men in the distance in line
of battle. Jacob is seen stretched out upon the wall: the Man,
sprinkled with blood, hastily approaches him.
THE MAN. Faithful old man, what has happened to you?
JACOB. May the devil reward you in hell for your obstinacy, and my dying
agonies!
So help me God the Lord!
Dies.
THE MAN (_throwing away his sword_). I will need thee no longer, sword
of my fathers! My son is in heaven--the very last of my retainers lies
dead at my feet--the craven nobles have deserted their cause; already
they kneel before the victor, and sue and howl for mercy! (_Looking in
every direction around him._) There still is time; as yet the enemy are
not upon me! I will steal a moment's rest before....
Ha! the New Men scale the northern tower; they shout 'Count Henry'--they
seek him in every direction!
Here I am! here I am! here I am! But you are not to pronounce sentence
upon me; the dead have already given in their verdict. I go to meet the
judgment and justice of my God! (_He clambers up a steep cliff jutting
out over the abyss._) I see thee, my eternity, as thou rapidly floatest
on to meet me, black with the shadows of eternal night! shoreless,
limitless, infinite! And in the midst of thy rayless gloom, like a
burning sun, eternally shining, but illumining nothing, I see my God!
(_He takes some steps forward, and stands on the brink of the
precipice._) Ha! they run, the New Men--they see me now! Jesus! Mary! O
Poetry! be cursed by me, as I shall be to all eternity! Up, ye strong
arms! cut through these waves of air!
He springs into the abyss.
* * * * *
The courtyard of the castle. Pancratius, Leonard; Bianchetti stands
at the head of a regiment of soldiers. The remaining princes and
counts, accompanied by their wives and children, file in before
Pancratius.
PANCRATIUS. Your name?
A COUNT. Christopher von Volsagen.
PANCRATIUS. You have pronounced it for the last time! And yours?
A PRINCE. Wladislaus, Lord of Schwarzwald.
PANCRATIUS. It shall be heard on earth no more! And yours?
A BARON. Alexander von Godalberg.
PANCRATIUS. It is already erased from the list of the living. Go!
BIANCHETTI (_to Leonard_). They have repulsed us for two long months;
their arms are wretched, and their accoutrements utterly worthless.
LEONARD. Are there many of them left?
PANCRATIUS. They are all given over to you for execution, that their
blood may flow as an example to the world. But if there is one among
them who can tell me where Count Henry hides, he shall have his life for
his information!
MANY VOICES. He vanished from our sight at last.
THE GODFATHER. Great Pancratius, I appear as mediator between you and
your prisoners; spare these citizens of noble birth, because they have
given up to you the keys and strongholds of the castle of the Holy
Trinity!
PANCRATIUS. I have conquered by my own strength, and need no mediator.
You will yourself take charge of their immediate execution!
THE GODFATHER. My whole life has been that of a good citizen. I have
frequently given proof of true patriotism. When I joined your cause,
Pancratius, it was not with the intention of leading my own noble
brethren to--....
PANCRATIUS (_interrupting him_). Seize the old pedant! away with him!
let him join his _noble_ brethren!
The soldiers surround the Godfather and the prisoners.
Where is Count Henry? Has no one seen him, dead or living? A purse of
gold for Henry, if only for his corpse!
A division of soldiers descend the wall from above.
THE LEADER OF THE DIVISION. Citizen general! by the command of General
Bianchetti, I stationed myself with my detachment, on the west side of
the bulwark; upon our entrance into the fort on the third bastion to the
left, I observed a man standing, unarmed, but bleeding and wounded, by a
dead body. I cried immediately to my men: 'Hasten your steps, we must
reach him!' but before we could approach him, he ascended a steep cliff
overhanging the valley, stood for a moment on a sharp and jutting point
of rock, and fixed his haggard eyes upon the depths below. I saw him,
then, extend his arms like a swimmer about to make a sudden plunge; he
threw himself forward with all his force; I saw him a moment in the air,
and we all heard the noise made by the fall of the body as it pitched
and fell from rock to rock into the abyss below.
This is the sword which we found but a few steps from the spot on which
we first observed him.
He hands a sword to Pancratius.
PANCRATIUS (_examining the sword_). Drops of blood stain the handle, but
here are the arms of his house! It is the sword of Count Henry!
He alone among you all has kept his plighted faith; to him be endless
glory--to you, traitors, the guillotine!
General Bianchetti, you will see that the fortress of the Holy Trinity
is razed to the ground, and will also superintend the execution of the
prisoners!
Leonard!
He withdraws with Leonard.
A bastion on the north tower. Pancratius, Leonard.
LEONARD. You require repose after so many sleepless nights; you look
wearied and exhausted with ceaseless labor.
PANCRATIUS. The hour of rest has not yet struck for me, and the last
sigh of the last of my enemies marks the completion of but half my task.
Look upon these heavy mists, these swamps, these desert plains; they
stand between me and the realization of my plans. Every waste on earth
must be peopled, rocks removed, lakes and rivers everywhere connected; a
portion of the soil must be awarded to every human being; the teeming
hosts of the living must far outnumber the multitudes who have perished;
life and universal prosperity must fill the place of death and ruin,
before our work of general destruction can be at all atoned for. If we
are not to inaugurate an era of social and widespread happiness, our
work of havoc and devastation will have been worse than vain!
LEONARD. The God of Freedom will give us power for gigantic tasks.
PANCRATIUS. What! _You_ speak of _God!_ Do you not see that it is
crimson and slippery here--that we are standing deep in human gore?
Whose blood is this beneath our feet?
There is nothing behind us save the court of the castle; no one is near
us. I know that we are quite alone, and yet, Leonard, I feel there is
another here!
LEONARD. I see nothing but this bloody corpse.
PANCRATIUS. It is the corpse of his faithful old servant--that is only a
dead body; but a spirit haunts this spot, and stands beside me; this
cap--see, _his_ arms are embroidered upon it; Count Henry's shield;
look, Leonard! there is the jutting rock o'erhanging the abyss--upon
this very spot _his_ great heart broke!
LEONARD. How pale you grow, Pancratius!
PANCRATIUS. Look up! IT is there! above you! Do you not see it?
LEONARD. I see nothing but a broken mass of clouds drifting down, and
surging o'er the top of yonder craggy peak o'erhanging the abyss, which
is turning crimson in the setting sun.
PANCRATIUS. A fearful symbol burns upon it!
LEONARD. Lean upon me! How ghastly pale you grow!
PANCRATIUS. Millions of men obeyed my will; where are they now?
LEONARD. Do you not hear their cries? They ask for you, their saviour.
Look not on yon steep cliff; your eyes are dying in their sockets as you
gaze upon it!
PANCRATIUS. HE stands there, motionless; three nails are driven in HIM;
three stars; His outstretched arms are lightning flashes!
LEONARD. Who? Where! Revive!
PANCRATIUS. GALILÆE VICISTI!
He falls dead in the arms of Leonard.
SELF-SACRIFICE.
That for which man offers up his blood or his property, must be more
valuable than they. A good man does not fight with half the courage for
his own life that he shows in the protection of another's. The mother,
who will hazard nothing for herself, will hazard all in the defence of
her child; in short, only for the nobility within us--only for
virtue--will man open his veins and offer up his spirit; but this
nobility--this virtue--presents different phases: with the Christian
martyr, it is faith; with the savage, it is honor; with the republican,
it is liberty.--ANALECT.
SHANGHAI: ITS STREETS, SHOPS, AND PEOPLE.
China has always been looked upon by Europeans and described in both
ancient and modern works as 'the unchanging country,' and it is a common
fallacy that the China of to-day is exactly what it was a thousand years
ago; that foreign trade and intercourse have had and can have no effect
upon the manners or ideas of the people, and that the descriptions we
read of Chinese towns and their inhabitants, written twenty years ago,
would answer for the same places to-day. In a measure this is true, but
it is not true of the cities which have been opened to foreign trade, or
in fact of any of the Chinese cities where foreigners have been settled
since the war of 1857 and treaties of 1858.
Since that time the progress of Shanghai, Foo-Chow, Amoy, and Hong-Kong
(which last, however, is purely a British colony) has been amazing, and
men who visited China ten years ago would not recognize these places.
Indeed, it is not unlikely, with the rapid extension of Chinese trade,
and the removal of the prejudices of the people, that the history of
Chinese cities, like those of the Western States and California, will
have to be rewritten every ten years to be at all correct.
This is peculiarly the case in respect to Shanghai, which, from an
insignificant place, almost unknown in the western world, has sprung up
to an importance in trade surpassing that of any city on the China
coast. It has, from its proximity to the tea district, and easy
communication with the vast country watered by the Yang-tze river, taken
almost without an effort the great trade that once centred in Canton,
and every year shows a greater amount of tonnage in the Woosung river,
and larger exports of tea, silk, and cotton.
Approaching the entrance to the Woosung river from the Pacific, the
waters of the Yang-tze are plainly discernible at sixty to seventy miles
from its mouth, and when near the point where the ship's head is turned
from the broad current of the great river into that of the Woosung, a
thick, yellow mud rolls out with the tide, and discolors the water as
far as the eye can reach. It is like the waters of the Nile or the
Mississippi, turbulent in the great tideways, and heavy with the
coloring matter of the soil it has washed for thousands of miles. It is
evident that we are approaching a great commercial city, although for
miles we can see only a low coast, well cultivated, but without signs of
a town. The number of ships and steamers passing in and out on a fine
day would remind a New Yorker of the fleet that is always beating
through the Narrows, or is to be seen from the heights of Neversink. In
the three hours it took us to run from the light-ship to the anchorage
at Woosung, no less than seven large steamers passed us, outward bound.
The tide in the Yang-tze and its branch, the Woosung, runs with
tremendous force, having a rise and fall of eighteen feet at spring
tides, and few ships are able to proceed beyond Woosung with a single
tide, Shanghai lying twelve miles above. They anchor among a fleet of
native junks from the trading places on the Yang-tze, bound to the same
port, and awaiting a change of tide, which the Chinese sailors celebrate
by a great hubbub on the poops of their unwieldy-looking vessels, with
tom-toms and other instruments of the same nature. This fleet of junks
and sampans is a curious sight to the stranger approaching the China
coast for the first time, and, with a ramble through the filthy village
of Woosung, occupies the time which the tides compel him to spend there.
The junks give proof that if there have been great changes in the trade
of China and in the appearance of the cities where foreigners have
established themselves, there certainly has been none in the mode of
ship building, and in the thousand curious and uncouth ways of working,
acting, and living which have been for generations handed down from
father to son, and which are at the present time in no ways altered from
what they were a thousand years ago. No people in the world are slower
in admitting the ideas of foreign nations, or in taking advantage of the
most obvious improvements daily before their eyes; and, although the
improvements introduced by English and Americans in steamers and vessels
adapted for the navigation of their rivers are so far acknowledged by
them as to lead to the discontinuance of junk building to a marked
extent, yet the vessels they now build are of the same uncouth, clumsy,
and expensive shape as the first they ever put on the stocks.
Their anchors are still of wood, and occupy the greater part of the
vessel before the foremast; and, instead of cables, they still have
immense coils of rough rope like a hair lariat. The sails are still of
bamboo mats, although occasionally a piece of good American or English
duck is to be seen, stretched on bamboos in the style of the
old-fashioned square sail, and once, on the river Min, we saw a native
pilot-boat rigged with the regular fore-and-aft cut, her sails having
evidently been fashioned by a foreign hand.
Out of hundreds of junks moored in the Woosung river it was impossible
to find one without the great staring eye under what is called, by
courtesy, the bows, and not a few of them had the open mouth of a
dragon, with ugly teeth, painted under it, near the water-line, the
corners being drawn down, and the eye (from their desire that it should
see 'all ways at once') having a horrid squint. This gave to the boat a
lugubrious expression--if such a term may be allowed--ludicrous in the
extreme; and with fifty or a hundred junks drawn up in squadrons,
squinting and making faces at each other, nothing more thoroughly
Chinese could well be imagined.
Conspicuous among this fleet were the timber vessels, which were so
loaded as to be able to move only with the tide. The art with which
their lading was tied to the vessels, so as to preserve their shape
while stretching far over the water on either side, was admirable; and,
out of fifty timber junks, all seemed to be loaded in precisely the same
manner. This was accomplished by laying the ends of the poles, tied in
fagots, toward the bows, while their smooth, round butts were exposed to
the action of the tide. The sticks being of uniform length and
thickness, tapering evenly, and about twenty feet long, it was easy to
arrange their fagots so as to give them the swelling lines of a ship,
and enable the junk to breast the storms of the coast without damage to
her cargo.
Woosung, itself, is a place of no interest whatever--a filthy village,
with a market place on the river; the remains of old forts in its
neighborhood, and extensive rice and cotton fields about it, presenting
the only points worthy of note.
There is an old Joss house on the outskirts of the village, occupied by
the French as a barracks, or 'garrison of occupation for the protection
of the coast,' as a cadaverous old soldier told us, manned by twenty-six
soldiers, without earthworks or protection of any kind. They constitute
the 'foreign population' of Woosung, and might as well be drafted to
some more healthy locality for any good that they can do. Such as we saw
looked like men just recovering from cholera or yellow fever.
While lying at Woosung waiting for the tide to change, we were
frequently reminded that we could not be far from a great commercial
entrepôt of the world, by seeing five or six large ships, of one
thousand tons each, rush past with the tide in as many hours, tea-laden
and bound to Europe; but none of our company were prepared for what we
saw as we first rounded the point where a good view of Shanghai is
obtained, and saw, in the brilliant light of a harvest moon, the dense
forest of masts that filled the river. I have seen the mass of shipping
in the Pool at London, and in the Mersey at Liverpool, in the East river
at New York, and the Delaware at Philadephia, in Boston and San
Francisco harbors, and in all the other ports of China, and among them
all Shanghai holds no mean rank. The summer of 1863, from peculiar
circumstances, the dullness of freights elsewhere, and the depredations
of the Alabama and other piratical cruisers, called to the China coast,
and especially to Shanghai, as fine a fleet of clippers as was to be
found in any port of the world; and on that bright mid-summer night we
found them anchored in three parallel rows, crossing the channel of a
river half a mile wide, and stretching for a mile and a half, if not two
miles, up and down before Shanghai.
Interspersed among these ships of all nations whose flags are known on
the seas, were steamers of all sizes, from the little tugboat to the
large steamers, like the Poyang of fifteen hundred tons, plying on the
Yang-tze and between the ports on the China sea, the Yellow sea, and in
Japan. Of these, no less than seventy-one belong to or trade with
Shanghai, and at that time there could not have been less than forty in
port.
Beyond the vessels at anchor in the stream, the space to the very banks
of the river was filled up and covered by a cloud of Chinese junks,
sampans, and river boats of every class and name.
We were before one of the great cities of the world, or one that is yet
to be known as among its most flourishing. The moonlight was reflected
from a long row of stately buildings, palaces in extent and noble
proportions, which lined the bank of the river for more than a mile.
These were the residences and mercantile houses of the merchants, the
public buildings, and the 'foreign concessions' in general, as they are
called. Beyond them could be seen the dim, turreted outlines of the
Chinese city, now closed and hushed for the night, but seemingly of vast
extent. The first and overruling impression here, as in all European
settlements on the China coast, except Canton and Swatow, was the grand
scale on which everything was done. The residences or hongs of the
merchants seemed planned by liberal minds, and executed by as liberal
hands. Space and money are not spared, and to obtain coolness and
comfort in so hot a climate, the ceilings of rooms are made very high,
few of the houses having more than two stories. Generally the material
is the small, over-baked and dark-colored brick of the Chinese, overlaid
with stucco; but occasionally a house is seen built of stone, one or two
of the largest and most valuable being entirely of granite. Generally
these hongs stand in spacious enclosures, or _compounds_, filled with
rare tropical trees and the bamboo so common in China.
The finest residences are on the river bank or Bund, as it is commonly
called; but the city stretches for several squares back from the river,
being densest in the English Concession. The American quarter, Hong-Que,
although not as well filled with fine houses, is the next in importance,
while the French Concession, nearest to the great city within the walls,
is meanly built, and has more of the native element than either of the
others. For, although it is contrary to Chinese law for any native to
hold property in any of the foreign possessions, in practice large
numbers of Chinamen rent tenements from their foreign owners, and even
own them, the property standing, for convenience' sake, in the name of
some foreign resident in trust. Thus there has gradually grown up around
and upon the concessions a large Chinese city, believed by many to
contain almost as large a population as the city within the walls. This
is not incredible when we consider that the excesses of the Tae-Pings in
Soo-Chow, a large city about thirty miles from Shanghai, have driven
vast numbers of its inhabitants to the latter place, which, being
already densely crowded, has overflowed its walls, and, as the presence
of Europeans has made Shanghai, as it were, a city of refuge for the
exiles, they have naturally crowded around the foreign settlement. In
this manner the population of Shanghai and its environs has been
prodigiously augmented within the last two years, and from a place of
six hundred thousand inhabitants, it has become one of more than a
million of people. It is extremely difficult to obtain even an
approximate estimate of the population of a Chinese city. The estimates
of the Chinese are totally unreliable, varying sometimes in the most
ridiculous manner, and generally being preposterously exaggerated, while
the estimates of strangers or foreigners, unacquainted with the
marvellous abundance of human life in very small spaces, as it is seen
in China, are very rarely correct. For instance, it is not uncommon to
find that residents of this city differ as much as a million of people
in their views of its population, their estimates ranging from nine
hundred thousand to two million. It is not unlikely that a medium
between these two extremes will prove to be correct, the figure twelve
hundred thousand appearing to be the favorite at present among those
conversant with the great changes of the last year.[1]
Unfortunately this vast increase in so short a period has led to great
mortality among the Chinese, from the dense crowding it has occasioned,
and in the summer months they are severe sufferers from Asiatic cholera,
which rages among them with shocking mortality. The air, even of the
foreign concessions, becomes tainted by the foul miasma rising from the
Chinese city, and no part of Shanghai can be esteemed healthy in the
months of July and August. A more perfect system of drainage in the
foreign concessions will probably lessen the mortality among Europeans,
and it is pleasing to note that this matter is now receiving the
attention which should have been given to it years ago; but no system of
laws or attempts at organizing better sanitary arrangements can
seemingly be successful among the Chinese themselves. Large sums of
money are now appropriated annually for these purposes, according to
their own account, but the mandarins embezzle it, the work is left
undone, and the filth and horrible stench of a Chinese city is
indescribable; it is something monstrous. Europeans and Americans,
accustomed to their own cleanly cities, cannot conceive of it. New York
streets have an unenviable notoriety on the Western continent for their
dirty condition, but New York is a garden of roses compared with a
genuine Chinese city, such as Shanghai within the walls. Even the
Chinese, who might be supposed to be accustomed to it, carry little bags
of musk to their noses as they ride through in their sedans; and half
the Chinese women one meets in Shanghai hold the nostril with the
forefinger and thumb, with a grace and dexterity only acquired by long
practice.
Mr. Fortune, the celebrated botanist[1] and indefatigable Chinese
traveller, gives to Tient-sin the glory of being the filthiest and most
noisome of Chinese cities, although he mentions Shanghai with high
honor. Canton, from which Europeans have mainly derived their ideas of
China, is comparatively a clean and neat place, far superior to the more
northern cities.
To descend from generalities to particulars. The smells are a horrible
compound, worse than in Coleridge's 'City of Cologne.' First and
foremost are the sewers, which are all open, the deposits of the
night-soil of the city, with convenient wells at every corner and in
niches in the walls. At these are to be found, at all hours, men with
buckets slung on bamboos, filling them for transportation in these
primitive open vessels to the farmers, who use the compost on their
fields. These wretches, with their vile burdens, are met at every turn,
and pass through the streets and roads in long files, loading the air
with abominations. No attention is paid to the wells and sewers until
they overflow, and, as chance may direct, the coolies take their loads
from the most convenient.
This is a terrible nuisance, but it is hardly worse than the odors which
arise from the innumerable cook shops, and from the peripatetic bakeries
at every corner. What they are cooking, no man knows, but if not dog
chow-chow, it is sure to be fried in some vegetable oil that sends up a
mighty vapor, hiding the cooks and rolling into the narrow street, where
it scarcely finds vent between the overhanging eaves of the houses. The
sickening smell of the castor bean seems everywhere. Occasionally the
sight and powerful odor of hard-boiled and rotten goose eggs, split open
to show that they are either rotten or half hatched, attract the Chinese
epicure. The oily cakes and crullers that the wandering baker is frying
for a group of children, powerfully offend European olfactories,
although so tempting to the half-naked brats. Many different and
offensive odors come from these greasy cook shops, but the offence in
almost every instance can be traced home to the vegetable oils, greasy
and rancid, which seem to pervade all Chinese cookery, as it is seen in
the streets of the cities. Many of the dishes, but for this oil, would
be quite tempting; and such, as have tasted them in the houses of the
rich, assure us that they are not so bad as they smell. The
much-talked-of edible bird's-nest soup is really a fine dish. The
substance, after it is prepared, all the dirt and feathers being
separated from it, is as clean and pure as isinglass, which it greatly
resembles in appearance. Great care is taken to make it pure before it
is sold for use, and in the shops at Canton it may be seen in every
stage of manufacture. Their ducks and geese are fine birds, and, with
excellent pork, and their never-failing rice, are the favorite dishes of
such as can afford them; which, by the way, they really know how to
cook--an art that is very little understood in England or America.
Dog chow-chow, kittens, rats, and mice, with crickets and locusts, are
only eaten by the vilest of the vile--poor wretches, who must support
themselves and families on a pittance of about fifteen or twenty dollars
a year.
Of course there are many things in their way of cookery, and in their
tastes for such articles as sharks' fins, fish maws, _beche-de-mer_,
etc., which are revolting to an educated stomach; but in their way the
Chinese are quite as dainty as the most fastidious of other lands, and
in fine vegetables, fish, and fruits they enjoy as much variety and
evince as discriminating a taste as any people in the world. Their fish
are sold in the markets alive, and taken from the tanks as selected by
the purchaser. Their way of drinking tea will be found, after
familiarity, superior to ours, for when milk is not used the finer aroma
of the leaf is obtained. Indeed, they are very particular in regard to
the quality and decoction of their tea, totally refusing the poisonous
green teas that are consumed in such quantities in England, and
especially in America.
They know, too, how to draw it, and just at the right moment the boiling
water is poured upon the leaf, and, without allowing it to simmer by the
fire, as we do, long enough to get the flavor of the stalks and stems,
they drink it off as soon as the boiling water has fairly acted upon the
delicate leaves. English tea-drinkers, who like to mix a green and a
black tea, and allow it to steam for a quarter of an hour to make it
strong, complain that Chinese tea is mere dishwater, just as the man
accustomed to get boozy on brandy, made 'fiery' with sulphuric acid, has
no taste for the light French wines. A Chinaman colors his green tea
with Prussian blue for his foreign customers, who like a bright, pretty
color; but he is too wise to drink it. This process of coloring we have
seen, publicly, in the tea factories of Shanghai; and the disgust with
which the manufacturer denied that he ever drank his own wares, was too
strong to be assumed. 'No good,' was his only reply.
Despite the filth and many disagreeable things to be encountered in a
walk or ride through a city like Shanghai, it is one of the most
interesting places imaginable in which to spend an hour or two on a
summer morning.
In the heat of the day, at mid-summer, it is dangerous in China, and
especially to a new comer, to be exposed even to the reflected rays of
the sun, and many a poor fellow has lost his life by neglect or contempt
of the cautions of his more experienced friends not to be in the
sunshine between the hours of 10 A. M. and 4 P. M. More than ordinary
precaution is necessary in times of cholera, owing to the peculiar
electrical condition of the atmosphere, in which any exertion or
exposure is often fatal to one recently arrived on the coast. All
excursions to the city are therefore, of necessity, made in the morning
or late in the afternoon. The gates are opened at daybreak, and the
early visitor is almost certain to be unpleasantly reminded of the
prevalence of cholera by the number of dead bodies lying in the streets.
They are those of coolies, or poor persons, who have died during the
night, and having no friends, the public authorities must take them
wherever they chance to die, and provide for their burial. In August,
1863, at a time when the cholera was not particularly virulent, the
deaths were supposed to be five hundred a day, principally among the
poor, who, from insufficient food, miserable lodging in the streets and
porticoes of temples, and constant exposure in the day to the direct
rays of the sun, to say nothing of the filth and foul air of the city,
were peculiarly exposed to the ravages of disease. Another sign of the
presence of cholera, and an odd one, was the number of persons passing
with necks disfigured by perpendicular parallel bars, as if branded by
hot irons. This curious remedy is applied for any pain in the stomach,
however slight, even for sea sickness, and the marks are made with
strong pincers. By the Chinese it is thought very efficacious, although
on what theory it is difficult to understand.
Entering the city from the north gate, after crossing the ditch that
separates the walls from, the French Concession, we find ourselves in
close and extremely narrow streets, with shops opening upon them,
neither glass nor any partition separating them from passers by. The
same arrangement is quite common in our own streets for fruit-sellers'
shops, toy stores, and newspaper and periodical stands. But instead of
one or two attendants at a stand, in China we find a dozen, in summer
time naked from the waist upward, emaciated by opium smoking, and having
a sickly look painful to see. Most of the shops have a carved railing
and a counter facing the street, the ends of which are ornamented by
grotesque shapes of dogs and gilded idols. A figure of a pug-nosed dog
with bandy legs is very common. At the first glance it would be supposed
that this was one of those nondescripts the Chinese are so fond of
devising, but a closer examination shows that the figure is an admirably
life-like copy of an odd dog, common to Pekin, pug-nosed and
bandy-legged, and no doubt his form will be recognized in many of the
grotesque, awkward-looking figures of which ivory carvings abound in all
countries where Chinese curiosities are to be found.
Standing on the counter is generally a roll of joss-sticks wound
spirally around a wire frame, and always burning to the tutelary idol of
the shop, for the sake of good luck. It is the duty of one of the boys
to see that this coil of joss-stick is always lighted--a very convenient
arrangement for tobacco smokers strolling through the streets. Another
custom which they have, and which is also supposed to bring success to
the shopkeeper, is to encourage the swallows to build under the eaves
and among the bamboo rafters. Three or four of these nests of swallows,
with broods of twittering young ones, may often be observed in a single
shop, neat stretchers of cotton cloth or bamboo being built under the
nests, to prevent any possible damage to the goods. The birds seem quite
at home amid all the hubbub; and the kind care which protects them amid
a semi-barbarous people is one of those traits of a common humanity--of
kindness to the helpless--which marks the common origin of the most
civilized and most barbarous of the human race. The streets of Shanghai
are not divided among the trades, as in Canton, but shops of all kinds
occur in every crooked lane and alley-way. Principal among them are the
cookshops, some of which are evidently restaurants on a large scale, for
they are filled, from morning till night, with half-naked coolies,
eating indescribable dishes, of which rice is the great staple, and
sipping tea. They all sit at little tables, built for two, or at round
tables, seating half a dozen. In the country and in the suburbs these
last are drawn out into the open air at sunset, and are occupied by
parties taking their tea in a social manner. The roads around Shanghai
are fall of such parties on a warm summer's eve.
After the cookshops, the confectioners' attract the traveller's eye. An
immense amount of sweetmeats is consumed by the people, and the
confectioners' shops are proportionally numerous. They are distinguished
by copper caldrons sunk in their counters, which are kept always hot and
full of molasses. With a ladle like a milkman's pint measure, they bring
up the sweet mass for their customers, and their stalls are always
crowded. Not only are these established shops well patronized, but an
immense quantity of candy and preserved fruits is sold by the wandering
peddlers, who manufacture and dispose of their good things wherever they
find customers. Preserved lychee, a fruit that looks like a small prune,
and like it is stewed in sirup, is a great favorite; and the coolies in
the foreign quarters, while resting under their burdens, are not
backward in disposing of a saucer of sweetmeats obtained from the
nearest peddler. These sweetmeats, of all kinds, are esteemed very good
by Europeans, and no doubt are quite the same as we receive from China
put up in big-bellied blue jars; but as sold in the streets, the lack of
cleanliness in the entire outfit of the shop, and the necessity of using
the dishes and China spoons from which one can see the neighboring
coolies gobbling their purchases, holding the dishes up to their very
noses, would deter any man of ordinary fastidiousness from attempting an
immediate experiment to establish their identity.
After eating, we must rank shaving as the second among Chinese
employments. They all wear the cue, even to the infant in arms, whose
mother shaves its head at three months old, and ties up the tiny cue
with a red ribbon, and from that day to the day of his death the child
and man must be periodically shaved; for, of course, no man can shave
his own head. Great is the barber in China, and vast his field of
operations among four hundred millions of people! They shave their
subjects everywhere, even sitting on a stone in an open field, and at
all hours of the day their shops are full. It is in the neatness of his
'shave' and the glossiness of his rich black cue that the Chinese dandy
is distinguishable. Men who cannot afford to shave every day, allow the
hair to grow until the head (always excepting the part which has never
known the razor or the shears) resembles that of a fire zouave just
after enlistment, or a penitentiary prisoner; while the exquisite has
his head shaved with the sharpest razor, giving a bluish cast or frame
for his yellow face. Occasionally the size or thickness of the tail
appears to be unsatisfactory, and a larger surface is spared from the
knife. The refractory hairs growing out in this supplementary patch
surround the genuine cue with a halo an inch or two in height. Lots of
these apostolical-looking Chinese are to be met with in every street,
and, as they rarely wear hats, they have a very comical appearance. This
question of hats is another of curious import among this curious people.
A Chinese gentleman rarely wears one in the streets, his mode of travel
being in a sedan, and his fan or umbrella answering all purposes of
protection from the sun. A mandarin, on the contrary, wears in the ball
of his cap his badge of office, and the time even when he changes his
winter for his summer hat is regulated by the Board of Rites. The poor
coolie is troubled by no such formality, and wears a great umbrella-like
head covering, that he perches on a little bamboo tower, six inches
above his crown, tying down the whole concern by a string that passes
behind his ears. When at leisure, he wears his long cue trailing to his
feet; when busy, it is snugly coiled around his head and out of sight
under his hat. The gentleman and mandarin, on the contrary, never ties
up the cue, its flowing grace, like his long finger nails, being a badge
of his superior condition in being above manual labor. No wonder, then,
that they attach so much importance to the pigtail, and that the man who
dresses it daily is so useful a character in the community. His tools
are unlike anything a civilized barber uses, and his razor, if its uses
were not explained, would hardly be recognized by the name. It is a
thick, broad instrument, shaped more like a cook's cleaver than any
instrument known to other nations; but it does its work well in the
hands of a good operator. After the head is shaved, it is washed with
warm water in an old-fashioned brass barber's basin, such, as was in use
in England two hundred years ago, and, after having had the few
straggling hairs on lip and chin removed, the patient (for truly he
deserves the name) goes through the torture of having all stray hairs
extracted from the inner coating of the nose and ears, an absurd and
barbarous custom that often leads to permanent injury of the latter
organs. If he chances to have ophthalmia, the barber considers that his
eyes need cleaning, and proceeds to wipe out the inner side of the
eyelid with his instrument, of course to their serious injury. In the
ophthalmic hospitals of Chinese cities European physicians have found
this practice a fruitful cause of many diseases of the eyes, but no
remonstrances can induce the people and their barbers to give it up.
The mustache, as well as the pigtail of immoderate length, is a badge of
a certain dignity, for no man is allowed to cultivate it until he
reaches a certain age, and it is an error to suppose that Asiatics are
totally devoid of beard, for the old fellows among them sport grisly
beards and mustaches of respectable length, and altogether have quite a
venerable look. On the stage the emperor and mandarins are represented
as bearded like Turks. Indeed the excessive length of their horse-hair
mustaches, reaching to their girdles, shows what esteem the people
attach to a long, flowing beard.
On first landing in China, the impression given by so many long-tailed
and petticoated men is like the memory of a dream wherein one has seen
animals walking like men; and, although custom makes the sight familiar,
a Chinaman always appears an odd creature, especially when he passes the
end of his pigtail under his left shoulder and gently caresses it or
twists the final braid. A comical sight, to be seen almost every day in
Hong-Kong, is a sepoy policeman leading some Chinese culprit to the
lockup: the sepoy, tall and erect, with fierce mustaches, lean as a
tiger, and with a warlike air, leading along the meek Chinaman by the
end of his pigtail, John Chinaman following at about two paces behind,
just at the end of his natural tether.
We have already alluded to the grotesque appearance of an infant a few
months old, with close-shaved head, and pigtail two inches long, tied up
with a gay ribbon. When the youngster is four years old, and his pigtail
has reached the dignity of seven inches, it is duly braided, and
constitutes his only dress. Then, being armed with a basket, he is sent
out in this primitive and absurd costume to pick chips.
After the barbers, in order of importance among the Chinese shopkeepers,
come the coffin makers, and they are very important men indeed, in a
country where the worship of ancestors is carried to a degree unknown
elsewhere in the world. Their coffins are of all sizes and degrees of
finish, but of one invariable shape. Some of those seen in Shanghai cost
as much as one thousand taels, equal to $1,500 in American gold. They
are extremely massive, more like miniature junks than the shape we are
accustomed to associate with the idea of a coffin, the head being higher
than the foot, and the lines of the sides swelling gently with very
little taper. The boards of the sides and headpiece are at least three
inches thick, elaborately carved, and gilded in Chinese characters. The
colors are various, black and red predominating. As the body is kept in
this massive shell for several months after decease, and in the house of
the nearest relative, the good sense of making the walls of extra
thickness and strength is very apparent. Even after it is laid in the
tomb, in many parts of the country, the style of sepulture allows the
coffin to be seen, and it is even exposed to the weather in some cases.
Customs differ greatly, however, in different parts of the country. In
the flat region about Shanghai, the tombs are found mostly around the
little streams flowing into the Yang-tze, or the ocean. The coffins are
placed in the open fields, a few shovelfuls of earth are thrown around
them, and they are left undisturbed, for the high weeds and the
accumulations of centuries to form mounds around them. A few regularly
constructed tombs are to be found, but they are rare. In the hill
country bordering the China sea, in the province of Foh-Kien, and
elsewhere on the coast, when the nature of the land will allow,
extensive tombs are hollowed out in the sides of the hills, and the
coffins are deposited out of sight. Here a whole family reposes, it may
be, in one of these majestic tombs (for, seen from a distance, they have
a picturesque and imposing appearance). The popular shape is that of a
horseshoe or half moon, the circle being toward the summit of the hill.
This portion of the tomb is raised like a crown, and facing it is an
altar, with Chinese characters engraven on its pillars, where the
offerings of the relatives or worshippers are placed. Before this is a
place like a court, railed off and flanked, it may be, by smaller altars
on either side, facing other entrances, where the less venerated members
of the family are interred. In front of the whole are two high posts,
the meaning or use of which, if they have any at all, we are not
acquainted with.
On these altars are burnt the paper offerings sent to their departed
friends, the manufacture and sale of which occupy a numerous and
important class of shops in the great cities. These offerings are
generally of gilt and silver paper, in the form of clothes, horses,
houses, and other conveniences of which their friends showed their
appreciation on earth, and which, by a subtile process of reasoning,
they imagine that they can transmit to them in this cheap and ingenious
manner--simply by burning these paper effigies at the altars by the
tombs! One of the most ingenious and economical of these contrivances,
whereby, with a subtlety of argument worthy of the great trafficker in
indulgences, Tetzel, who so raised Martin Luther's ire, they manage
cheaply to transmit funds to heaven, is the paper dollar, strings of
which are sold in the shops, looking exceedingly like goodly bunches of
the silvery onion. It is worthy of a people who are so niggardly in all
their transactions, who have a copper currency that would sink any man
with a fortune invested in it, and who cheat all that come in contact
with them, that they should cheat their departed friends with these
remittances, a bundle of which are to be obtained for a few cash, and on
reaching the other world are understood to pass for a little fortune. In
the ordinary affairs of life it is their habit to put three prices on
everything they have to sell, and in their dealings with heaven they put
their own valuations, amounting to an advance of several thousand per
cent., on all their offerings. Could anything be more thoroughly in
character?
There is, however, a certain degree of respect paid to the memory of
departed friends, and an attachment to the soil where lie the bones of
their ancestors, that, in as far as it is harmless, is entitled to our
respectful consideration. It gives a domestic, settled character to the
people, that is worthy of all praise, and should raise them in our
estimation, from whatever cause it may spring. It is well known that
they show the highest respect to the aged, and that those who emigrate
to foreign lands show the greatest anxiety that after death their
remains should be sent back to their own country. Ships from San
Francisco are often largely freighted with the coffins of deceased
Chinamen; and it is worthy of note that few or none of these belong to
men born in Shanghai, the Chinese seen in other lands coming almost
exclusively from Canton, Ningpo, and Amoy. The northern and middle
population of China is not by nature so restless a class as that of the
south, and has borne this character since Europeans have been at all
acquainted with the Chinese.
The three kinds of shops to which allusion has been made, those of the
cooks, the barbers, and the undertakers, comprise more than one half of
all in Shanghai; but besides these are almost as many varieties of
trades as we are accustomed to in other more civilized countries.
Bankers sit behind their counters, keeping watch over tons of copper
cash, neatly threaded in strings of one thousand each, and pay checks
and make loans with the same regularity as in cities boasting their
superior civilization. Nor are the resources of these native bankers to
be despised. On proper security native and foreign merchants have been
known to obtain loans of several hundred thousand dollars from one
banker. Many of their daily operations are for very considerable
amounts, and are adjusted in credits or in silver. Although they are
cursed with as abominable a currency as any nation in the world, they
do not appear to experience any great difficulty in settlements, every
merchant having his balance, and weighing off the proper amount of
silver, larger payments being made in sycee. This want of a currency
arises from their utter lack of confidence in the coinage of their own
country. No currency that the Imperial Government might issue, not like
the copper cash, or tsien, incapable of adulteration, would be above
suspicion; and while the shameless system of mandarin plunder and fraud
continues, it is hopeless to expect a proper currency in China, unless
the foreigners interfere or obtain the control in this part of the
national affairs which they already have over the customs and the army.
A uniform currency, superior to the wretched, worthless cash, is the
crying need of China. The Mexican, or chop dollar, becomes sadly
depreciated after long circulation, by the clippings and innumerable
marks put upon it, so that it will not pass outside of China, nor does
it long remain out of the pot of the sycee melter. The American half
dollar and quarter and the English shilling are daily becoming more
popular for the smaller transactions of the shops, and the notes of the
local banks possess considerable circulation in their respective cities;
but what is needed more than anything else is an abundance of small
silver coinage for the daily ordinary transactions. The Mexican mint is
quite inadequate to supply so vast and insatiable a country as China,
which should have a currency of its own. No doubt much larger quantities
of silver will continue to reach China directly from California, within
the next few years, in the shape of bars. The great impetus which the
late wild speculations in silver shares is likely to give to the
development of the Washoe mines, is almost certain within a very few
years to so largely increase the yield of California silver as to rival
in amount the immense produce of her gold mines. Careful surveys and the
actual yield of mines, such as the Gould & Curry, and Hale & Norcross on
the Comstock lead, prove that the ore is there in large quantities, and
the stimulus has now been applied which will rapidly bring it to light.
With the increasing facilities between San Francisco and Hong-Kong the
bulk of this must go to China direct, instead of the roundabout course
by which it has reached the East through London. But these are questions
that hardly attract attention at present in Shanghai, or among the
Shanghai bankers, whose shops we were talking of as met with here and
there in the open street.
Next to one of these respectable, long-tailed gentlemen we found a
first-class apothecary, whose shop and mode of business were widely
different from those of one of the guild at home. The ceilings were
swarming with swallows, whose chattering rivalled that of the folks
below, conspicuous among whom was a fat, greasy old chap, in the dignity
of a gray mustache and a monstrous pair of colored spectacles, the
glasses of which were an inch and a half in diameter, rimmed with horn,
and tied by a string to his ears. He was gravely busy in compounding a
prescription on a piece of paper large enough to cover the side of a
chest of tea, and closely written over with Chinese characters. We
lounged by his side as he put up packet after packet of dried roots and
simples, tasting many of them with his consent. Calamus and liquorice
were among them, and camphor, too. Each packet was of the size of a
pound paper of Stuart's candy (any child can tell you what size that
has), and when the entire prescription was filled, the unfortunate sick
man became possessed of no less than twenty-three of these packages,
enough to keep famine from his door for a week at least, to judge from
their bulk. They filled a goodly basket. It was not one man alone who
carried away such a heap of medicines; but before each applicant, as the
prescriptions spread on the counter were ticked off, rose a pile of
similar packages, which bid fair to become as high as that which had
excited our curiosity. All these drugs were put up neatly in the
light-yellow paper we are accustomed to see round our packs of
fire-crackers, and as neatly sealed with a little gum arabic. Indeed, it
is shrewdly suspected by Father Hue, from this prodigious liberality of
drugs, that the physicians feel bound to give a man all he pays for, in
the hope that out of a multitude of remedies some may chance to suit his
case. The foreign residents of Shanghai aver that the doctors take
contracts to cure their patients in a certain time, and if unsuccessful
at the stipulated day, their patients relieve their minds by a little
elegant abuse of their physician, and take the contract to the next in
their neighborhood.
It is not uncommon to see their dentists wandering through the streets
with rows of old fangs suspended from their necks like necklaces,
trophies of their skill; and every dead wall in the city has its
vermilion posters, advertising some great quack medicine, so that it is
quite evident that the science of medicine has reached that pitch of
refinement where a host of quacks can ply their arts with as much
success as among the western barbarians.
Heaven save us, though, from a Chinese doctor! Mechanical surgery is his
forte; for a stomach ache he will pinch your neck; for a broken rib he
will nearly crack the bones of your arm, and if you faint under this he
will hang you up by your heels to restore the circulation.
According to the diagrams published in the books on medicine, the
knowledge of anatomy possessed by the faculty in China is very slight,
and entirely erroneous; and in all their cures it is very probable that
nature, unassisted except by rest and fasting for a season, does the
work. They certainly are able to give her very little help.
It is noticeable, however, as a proof of the high esteem in which the
people hold the science, that the shops of the chemists and apothecaries
are kept by a superior class of people, more intelligent in appearance
than their neighbors, and holding a higher rank.
Of the lower trades there are innumerable shops, the variety of which is
almost bewildering. Every art and manufacture has its minute
subdivisions, and one meets, at every step, signs of the superior
civilization of the people in their admirable division of labor. Silk
looms are working in the open streets, shoemakers and tailors are each
plying their art in their narrow shops. In one they manufacture little
paper offerings for the gods, in another the gods themselves, in the
next their worshippers are supplied with joss-sticks or gayly colored
candles of tallow, mounted on slim sticks, that they may be stuck in the
sand before the divinity. Here you will find a printer hard at work
taking impressions on their delicate paper; next a bookbinder, who sews
the leaves with withes of paper, while in the next shop you can procure
the almanac for the year, months before it is required. In August, 1863,
they were selling copies of the almanac for 1864. Probably this work has
the largest circulation of any in the world, hanging, as it does, in
every house. The only exception may be the Bible, which, it is to be
hoped, will yet be as widely circulated in China as it is among the
other nations of the world.
Numbers of the people are engaged in the delicate carving we so much
admire in the ivory toys scattered throughout Europe and America, and a
vast number of people in preparing the hanging screens with curious
devices, quaint pictures, and sentences from Confucius, which are found
in almost every house of the better class. They have a great fondness
for the proverbs and wise sayings which, are thus kept always before
their children, like the very good rules and aphorisms we see on the
walls of our Sunday schools.
A good example of the minute subdivision of the Chinese trades is seen
in the shops devoted exclusively to the sale of camel's-hair pencils,
and others for that of the little squares of red paper, covered with
hieroglyphics, which we receive on a pack of fire-crackers, and which
constitute its 'chop.'
Jewellers' shops contain very little interesting to a foreigner--most of
the rings and brooches are trashy articles of jade-stone, a greenish
stone which resembles agate or cornelian in opaqueness. The armlets are
of silver, and of the same substance are the large thin circles worn by
the women of Foh-Kien in the ear and resting on the shoulder. Pins for
the fantastic pyramid they erect with their rich black hair are rather
pretty, but are generally ornamented with false pearls. For pearls the
Chinese have a passion, but it requires a judge of the article to
purchase any from them, nine tenths of those in the shops being
fictitious. Seed pearls are also used by them as medicines. In the back
streets it is not uncommon to find places where they make them, and
others where artists are engaged in cutting and polishing on the lathe
the few precious stones they possess. Rock crystal is one of their
favorites, and from it they cut beautiful vases and goblets that are
sometimes as clear as glass. In this, however, they are surpassed by the
Japanese, whoso crystal globes cannot be distinguished from the most
perfect glass. They also cut vases and carve odd figures in an arsenical
stone, of reddish color, with a grain like granite, which is little
known in other countries.
In Shanghai the shops for the sale of china and porcelain-ware do not
present as fine an assortment as those of Canton, where vases costing
fabulous sums are to be seen, but they are rich with the peculiar
pottery of Soo-Chow. Just at present the display of this ware is not as
fine as usual, owing to the occupation of that city by the Tae-Pings,
but enough remains on hand to show its beauty and general usefulness.
Chinese porcelain ware is as well known in every civilized country of
the world as in China itself, and has ceased to be a curiosity unless
when intelligently viewed in its historical character, for all these
quaint scenes scattered over the magnificent vases we receive illustrate
some event in Chinese history, or some custom which obtains among the
people.
When evening approaches and the shops are lit up with lanterns, the
numerous and brilliant lantern warehouses attract the attention: some of
the goods they display (and at nightfall they light every lantern in the
shop) are extremely beautiful and costly; all kinds are to be obtained,
from the fine hall-lamp of painted glass to the sixpenny lantern to be
carried in the hand. At night these gay lights give much animation to
the busy streets. Having gone across Shanghai from the south gate to the
French Concession one dark night, after the city gates were closed, a
good opportunity of seeing the interior of a Chinese city after
nightfall (which few foreigners care to avail themselves of) presented
itself. The people were slowly closing their shops for the night. Here
and there a shopkeeper was counting his cash, and calculating at his
counter with the help of the abacus; many of them were sitting at the
doors of their houses, smoking in the evening air; the barbers were
still at work preparing their customers for the night. Like Washington
Irving, these may have considered a good clean shave the best soporific.
Here and there a citizen of the better class was to be seen picking his
way by the light of a lantern, held by a boy, and twice we met sedan
chairs containing women, preceded by a lantern bearer. The passage of
two sedans in these narrow streets is a difficult and unpleasant
process, the bearers generally managing to grind your shins against a
wall. At night it is still more difficult to avoid contact, and the
coolies are incessantly shouting, in a sing-song voice, to prepare the
way. As it was, in the narrower streets we passed between files of dusky
figures and black, inquisitive eyes, ranged on either side to barely
allow passage. The cook-shops were deserted, and the attendants busy in
putting out the fires; only the places where lanterns or candles were
sold seemed to be doing an active trade, although it had scarcely struck
nine. At ten o'clock no doubt all were asleep, for hosts of beggars and
poor wretches were snoring by the roadsides. The most picturesque groups
passed in this evening stroll were those on the bridges, where, by the
light of tallow candles, men and boys were gambling and fighting
crickets. Although probably there was not another European or American
within the walls of the city, the passage was as safe as if made at
noonday, guarded by a file of soldiers.
A visit to Shanghai would be incomplete if the traveller failed to
inspect the numerous and very curious temples, and to contrast them with
the church edifices erected in the heart of the city by the Protestant
missionaries. There is one without the walls, in the French Concession,
where all the instruments of torture, the devilish devices of heathen
cruelty, are to be seen, a horrid spectacle. The largest of the temples,
however, is within the walls, approached through a wide court, with a
fountain (not in use) in the centre. This court is crowded with fortune
tellers, conjurors, and gamblers of every kind. Some of these gentry
play a game very much like thimble-rigging, in which copper cash,
appears under different inverted teacups. Every man who approaches the
idol draws from among the fortune tellers a stick or a piece of paper,
from the figure on which he is supposed to tell whether his prayer will
succeed, or the work he contemplates prove lucky. Entering the shrine,
it is difficult to see for a few moments, so gloomy is the place and so
grimy every object with the smoke of joss offerings from time
immemorial. A kind of altar faces the worshippers, with a box of sand,
in which are stuck the burning joss-sticks. Before this is a cushion, on
which they prostrate themselves, telling their beads, as they recite
their prayers inaudibly, and bowing to the earth at intervals of a few
minutes. Behind the altar are the idols. These hideous figures are twice
the size of life, and of frightful shape and features, the principal god
being in a tent-like shrine, which permits only a glimpse of his grim
features in the background. On his right hand is the figure of a man
with the beak of an eagle, and on his left a very grotesque divinity,
with a third eye, like that of the Cyclops, in the centre of his
forehead. These two figures, again, are supported by gigantic guardians,
one on either side, who have nothing absolutely monstrous about them,
being distinguished by their saturnine expression. That to the right
hand bears a striking likeness to Daniel Webster's stern and well-known
features. The deep-set eye and compressed lip were those of the great
expounder.
A heavy cloud from the burning candles and paper offerings filled the
air, and the smell of candle snuff mingled with that of incense. A high
railing separated the worshippers from the idols, but the priests were
quite indifferent and not at all exclusive; so, passing around and
without removing our hats, we made a close inspection of the respected
carvings. A nearer view did not increase their attractions, so, passing
up a flight of stairs, we entered a room where the bonzes were busy
praying for rain and apparently going through a species of litany with
open books in their hands. Our entrance stopped proceedings for a
minute or two, but they soon resumed, quite indifferently, singing and
drawling as though it were tedious, tiresome work.
They were all good-looking men, in the prime of life, dressed in scarlet
and embroidered robes of much richness. Unlike the rest of the people,
they neither shaved nor wore the cue. We found them drawn in a line
before the altar, from which they were separated by a screen: an open
porch at their back let in light and air. Each priest had before him a
little table with a fancy gilt screen upon it, and as they slowly
proceeded with their drawl, at convenient intervals, each made a slight
bow behind his screen, his head touching it. As they did this with the
regularity of drilled soldiers, and to the pounding of a tom-tom, they
evidently were chanting in chorus, although the ear would have failed to
distinguish it. The tom-toms and wooden drums were beaten at the
pleasure of the parties in charge: nothing like time was apparent to any
but a Chinese ear.
The idol was a little gilt figure, about six inches high, with the body
of a beast and the head of a man. His peculiarity was the possession of
a supplementary eye, which, as his natural pair squinted horribly, no
doubt was very useful. His position was on a little table surrounded by
tall candles; whether they were borrowed from the Roman Catholics or the
Catholics borrowed the custom from them is a question for the student of
church history. Before the idol was placed another table with ten
elegant bowls, scarcely larger than our teacups, filled with the
choicest fruits and grains that the market afforded. Each article was
perfect of its kind. Rice, tea, the nelumbium, and agaric, a species of
fungus, were among them. Just then the country being in great want of
rain, the priests were trying the coaxing process, and tempting the god
with the best chow-chow to be had; but the next day they got out of
patience, and were to be met parading him through the dusty streets,
exposed to a fierce sun, for the purpose of giving him to understand
that the heat was quite as disagreeable as they had represented it.
Their arguments for this proceeding are extremely logical: they say that
Joss, in his cool temple, laughs at them, and is disposed to think that
they are humbugging him; therefore, if they give him two or three hours
of good skin-roasting in the sun, he will be much more likely to come to
terms, to avoid a repetition of the process. As they do this every day
until rain comes, it is of course seen in a short time, if they are
patient, that it never fails in the end.
Indeed, it is quite common to meet in all the large cities processions
of priests, followed by the rabble, who are giving 'Joss an airing.' The
eminently practical object of these mummeries argues very little genuine
respect for the deity, an inference that has often been drawn by
missionaries from other points in their treatment of their idols.
Their worship of them, such as it is, is almost universal. Every house
has its shrine and altar, and even in the porches of foreign residents
in the quarters occupied by the Chinese servants, one sometimes
(although not often) sees a little figure in a niche, with a tiny
joss-stick before it. Every junk and sampan has its tutelary idol. A
little shrine of bamboo of the size of a common birdcage is built for
it, sometimes fixed and sometimes movable. The interior of this was
gilded once, but the gilt is worn and tarnished by smoke and water. It
has doors that open when the joss-sticks are to be burnt before the toy
figure that presides on a miniature throne. A sampan whose owners are
too poor to supply themselves with decent clothing, will be sure to have
its tawdry baby-house and doll idol, and it frequently has in addition
a roll of paper, four feet by one, like a window curtain, with, a gay
picture of Joss, in a scarlet dress, in the act of dancing, and
generally in a very absurd posture for such a respectable character.
Every evening at sunset there is a prodigious hubbub from the junks on
the Woosung, made with tom-toms, drums, and other unmelodious
instruments, which are vigorously beaten for ten or fifteen minutes, to
bring good luck, and propitiate the devils, or frighten them away for
the night. From the shore, the rapid motions of a dozen arms on the high
poop of each junk, tossed aloft in the dusk, and the discordant, harsh
sounds that come from so many vessels at once, arrest the attention of
the stranger, and once seen and heard, are never forgotten.
The pagodas, so often mentioned in accounts of the Chinese empire,
appear to be more numerous in the mountainous districts, where they add
greatly to the picturesque charm of the scenery, and are believed to be
connected with the religious ceremonies of the people. In the flat
country around Shanghai they are not to be met with; at least it was not
our fortune to see any during our brief stay. The only structure like a
tower, if we except the turrets on the city walls and watch towers
erected within the past few years, when the Tae-Pings have threatened
the city, is a tall, white monument, rising to the height of twenty
feet, and without inscription or distinguishing mark of any kind. It
looks like a fine, white tomb, higher and more ambitious than usual, and
truly it is a 'whited sepulchre'! Baby Tower, it is called by the
foreign residents, for it is filled with the bones of infants--not such
as have died a natural death, as Bayard Taylor asserts, but which have
been thrust into this horrid monument of heathen cruelty when but a few
hours old. Humanity shudders at the thought! These dazzling white baby
towers, with their mockery of purity, their object known to all men, and
openly inviting, as it were, the most unnatural and heartless of
murders, are among the most hideous spectacles to be met with in a
heathen land. True, a river or a pond will be pointed out to you in
other parts of China, or in India, where babies are daily drowned like
puppies or kittens; but they do not affect the mind with such a horror
as these palpable structures, erected with the best skill of their
architects for this express purpose. The water closes over the murdered
infant, and no trace of the crime remains; but here is a tower--a high
tower--with deep foundations, filled with the bones of murdered babes
that have been accumulating for generations.
No wonder that Christian mothers, resident in the East, cannot speak of
them or see them without a shudder, and never willingly pass them in
their drives. Who knows but they might hear, if they approached the
tower, the wail of some poor infant just thrown in, or meet its father
returning from his cruel errand!
At Shanghai the Baby Tower stands on the southwest side of the city,
without the walls, but at Foo-Chow, where the crime of infanticide is
still more prevalent, they use no baby towers, but have provided ponds
for this express purpose. It is the saddest part of this great national
crime of the Chinese, that it is sanctioned by the mandarins, and viewed
as a disagreeable necessity, not as a crime.
It has been the fashion of late years to deny the existence of this
abomination; the doubters, wise in their own conceit, insisting that the
crime is too great for human nature.
Human nature, unfortunately, has proved but a frail barrier to crime of
this character in all parts of the world, and the facts of Chinese
infanticide are indisputable. The witnesses are too numerous, the crime
is too public, and the evidences of it too notorious to deny its
existence. The children destroyed are girls; the most common methods of
destroying them are: 1st, by drowning in a tub of water; 2d, by throwing
into some running stream; 3d, by burying alive. The last-named mode is
adopted under the hope and with the superstitious belief that the next
birth will be a boy. The excuse is that it is too expensive to educate a
girl, but if some friend will take the child to bring up as a wife for a
little boy, the parents will sell or give away the infant rather than
destroy it. The regular price is two thousand copper cash, or $2, for
every year of their lives; for sometimes a girl will be saved for a year
or two, and then sold for a wife or slave. Many instances have come to
the notice of missionaries where large families of girls have been
destroyed. There is one woman now employed as a nurse in a missionary's
family at Fuh-Chow, who says that her mother had eight girls and three
boys, and that she was the only girl permitted by her father to live. We
never heard of an instance of a boy's being destroyed at birth. There is
a village about fifteen miles from Fuh-Chow, which is swarming with
boys, but where girls are very scarce. The people account for it
themselves by alleging the common practice of killing the girls at
birth, a practice which is indulged in by the rich as well as by the
poor.[2]
But to enter into all the particularities of Chinese life which attract
the attention at Shanghai as in other cities, would be to compile an
account of China and her customs.
The points of real importance to be considered in connection with
Shanghai, which is fast becoming the commercial centre of Chinese
exports, are the extent to which foreigners have an influence on the
people in modifying their habits, increasing their knowledge, and
dispelling their prejudices. The growth of European influence and the
complete opening of the Chinese empire, in which immense advances have
been made in the last three years, will, in time, it is to be hoped,
lead to the diffusion of the Christian religion, a work attended with
such gigantic difficulties, at the present day, that one cannot
sufficiently admire the courage, patience, and faith which actuate
missionaries to this empire. No representations of these difficulties
which reach the Christian world have done justice to them, for it is
necessary to observe the heartlessness, self-conceit, and prodigious
prejudices of the Chinese to appreciate the noble zeal of the
missionaries. The course of trade and much more correct notions of the
power and objects of the Western nations, and the firmness with which
they use the former to secure the latter, are unquestionably breaking up
with rudeness the ridiculous ideas of the Chinese concerning their own
importance and superior wisdom. If once they can be made learners in
good earnest, the battle is half won, for none doubt their intelligence.
European influence, alone, has effected great changes in five years, and
European and Chinese combined may, in the five years to come, work out
still greater reforms.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Sir Frederick Bruce, in a recent report to the Foreign
Office, says:
'The growth of Shanghai is wonderful; its population is estimated at
1,500,000, and it bids fair to become soon the most important city of
the East. The Chinese flock to it on account of the security it enjoys;
and the silk manufacture, which was destroyed by the Taiping occupation
of Soochow and Hangchow, is taking root at Shanghai.'--Pekin, 30th
April, 1863.
[2] Civilized nations profess to look with abhorrence on the
Chinese crime of infanticide, and to believe that the statements of
travellers and missionaries are incredible; but a careful examination of
the mortuary tables of London, Paris, New York, Dublin, Moscow, and
other cities, will show that infanticide is far more common than
supposed. It is a crime easily hidden and hard to trace. Take the
foundling hospitals as a guide to some approximate estimate of the
amount of infanticide in France. We find that she has upwards of 360
hospitals; that in Paris alone, in five years, from 1819 to 1823, 25,277
children were received, of whom eleven thirteenths died, and that the
annual number of enfans trouvés ranges from 3,800 to 4,500. These
children, but for the hospital, would have been murdered. Who can tell
how many are thrown into the sewers of Paris? A recent writer states the
number at 10,000, but we deem this an exaggeration. It is significant
that the percentage of births and deaths in all France is less far the
births and greater for the deaths than in England. These tables we
annex.
It is still more significant that the returns of foundling hospitals,
from widely different countries, show that these institutions, however
charitable and humane their object, are to be viewed as conveniences for
murdering an infant without the actual violence at which humanity
revolts. The proportion of abandoned children who live is so exceedingly
small, that abandonment of a child to a foundling hospital is scarcely
less than murder. If the child live, it may be viewed, almost, as a
direct act of Providence.
Of 62,000 children brought into the Paris foundling hospitals, 52,500
died.
In Dublin, 19,420 children were received in ten years, of whom 17,440
died.
In Moscow, 37,000 children were received in twenty years, of whom 35,000
died.
COMPARATIVE VIEW OF MOVEMENT OF POPULATION OF
-------------------------------------++------------------------
ENGLAND. || FRANCE.
-----------+------------+------------++------------+-----------
| 1860. | 1861. || 1860. | 1861.
-----------+------------+------------++------------+-----------
Population | 19,902,918 | 20,119,496 || 35,597,461 | 36,752,565
Marriages | 170,156 | 163,706 || 290,657 | 283,642
Births | 684,018 | 693,406 || 953,315 | 987,830
Deaths | 422,721 | 435,114 || 782,764 | 848,174
-----------+------------+------------++------------+-----------
| Percentage. || Percentage.
-----------+------------+------------++------------+-----------
Marriages | .855 | .814 || .794 | .772
Births | 3.437 | 3.461 || 2.605 | 2.688
Deaths | 2.124 | 2.163 || 2.139 | 2.308
-----------+------------+------------++------------+-----------
ON HEARING A 'TRIO.
'All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,'
Thrilled through the wildering harmonies
That from the music came.
All soothing sounds of nature blent,
In wonderful accord,
With pleadings, wild and passionate,
From human hearts outpoured.
The wailings of the world's sad heart,
Oppressed with social wrongs,
In mournful monotones were mixed
With sounds of angel songs.
The falling of a nation's tears
O'er Freedom's prostrate form,
Dew droppings sweet from starry spheres,
Swift-rushing wings of storm.
The voices of Time's children three--
Past, Present, Future, blent
In that wild 'trio's' harmony,
Thrilled each fine instrument.
And, at the sound, my soul awoke,
And saw the dawning clear
Of Freedom's coming day illume
Earth's clouded atmosphere!
THE IDEAL MAN FOR UNIVERSAL IMITATION; OR, THE SINLESS PERFECTION OF
JESUS.
(A POSITIVE REPLY TO STRAUSS AND RENAN.)
The first impression which we receive from the life of Jesus, is that of
perfect innocency and sinlessness in the midst of a sinful world. He,
and He alone, carried the spotless purity of childhood untarnished
through his youth and manhood. Hence the lamb and the dove are his
appropriate symbols.
He was, indeed, tempted as we are, but he never yielded to temptation.
His sinlessness was at first only the _relative_ sinlessness of Adam
before the fall, which implies the necessity of trial and temptation,
and the peccability, or the possibility of the fall. Had he been endowed
with absolute impeccability from the start, he could not be a true man,
nor our model for imitation; his holiness, instead of being his own
self-acquired act and inherent merit, would be an accidental or outward
gift, and his temptation an unreal show. As a true man, Christ must have
been a free and responsible moral agent; freedom implies the power of
choice between good and evil, and the power of disobedience as well as
obedience, to the law of God. But here is the great fundamental
difference between the first and the second Adam: the first Adam lost
his innocence by the abuse of his freedom, and fell by his own act of
disobedience into the dire necessity of sin; while the second Adam was
innocent in the midst of sinners, and maintained his innocence against
all and every temptation. Christ's _relative_ sinlessness became more
and more _absolute_ sinlessness by his own moral act, or the right use
of his freedom in the perfect active and passive obedience to God. In
other words, Christ's original possibility of _not sinning_, which
includes the opposite possibility of sinning, but excludes the actuality
of sin, was unfolded into the _impossibility of sinning_, which _can_
not sin because it will not. This is the highest stage of freedom, where
it becomes identical with moral necessity, or absolute and unchangeable
self-determination for goodness and holiness. This is the freedom of God
and of the saints in heaven, with this difference: that the saints
attain that position by deliverance and salvation from sin and death,
while Christ acquired it by his own merit.
In vain we look through the entire biography of Jesus for a single stain
or the slightest shadow on his moral character. There never lived a more
harmless being on earth. He injured nobody, he took advantage of nobody,
he never spoke an improper word, he never committed a wrong action. He
exhibited a uniform elevation above the objects, opinions, pleasures,
and passions of this world, and disregard to riches, displays, fame, and
favor of men. 'No vice that has a name can be thought of in connection
with Jesus Christ. Ingenious malignity looks in vain for the faintest
trace of self-seeking in His motives; sensuality shrinks abashed from
His celestial purity; falsehood can leave no stain on Him who is
incarnate truth; injustice is forgotten beside His errorless equity; the
very possibility of avarice is swallowed up in His benignity and love;
the very idea of ambition is lost in His divine wisdom and divine
self-abnegation.'