AMONG THE CHINESE.
[Illustration: Chinese Caricature of an English Foraging Party.[28]
[Footnote 28: From "The Middle Kingdom," vol. ii., p. 177, by S. W.
Williams, New York, 1871.]]
We are apt to think of the Chinese as a grave people, unskilled in the
lighter arts of satire and caricature; but, according to that amusing
traveler, M. Huc, they are the _French_ of Asia--"a nation of cooks, a
nation of actors"--singularly fond of the drama, gifted in pasquinade,
addicted to burlesque, prolific in comic ideas and satirical devices. M.
Huc likens the Chinese Empire to an immense fair, where you find mingled
with the bustle of traffic all kinds of shows, mountebanks, actors,
Cheap Jacks, thieves, gamblers, all competing continually and with
vociferous uproar for the favor of the crowd. "There are theatres
everywhere; the great towns are full of them; and the actors play night
and day." When the British officers went ashore, in the retinue of their
first grand embassy, many years ago, they were astonished to see Punch
in all his glory with Judy, dog, and devil, just as they had last seen
him on Ascot Heath, except that he summoned his audience by gong and
triangle instead of pipes and drum. The Orient knew Punch perhaps ages
before England saw him. In China they have a Punch conducted by a single
individual, who is enveloped from head to foot in a gown. He carries
the little theatre on his head, works the wires with his hands under the
gown, executes the dialogue with his mouth concealed by the same
garment, and in the intervals of performance plays on two instruments.
He exhibits the theatre reduced to its simplest form, the work of the
company, the band, the manager, treasurer, scene-shifter, and
property-man all being done by one person.
In the very nature of the Chinese, whether men or women, there is a
large element of the histrionic, even those pompous and noisy funerals
of theirs being little more than an exhibition of private theatricals.
The whole company gossip, drink tea, jest, laugh, smoke, and have all
the air of a pleasant social party, until the nearest relation of the
deceased informs them that the time to mourn has come. Instantly the
conversation ceases and lamentation begins. The company gather round the
coffin; affecting speeches are addressed to the dead; groans, sobs, and
doleful cries are heard on every side; tears, real tears, roll down many
cheeks--all is woe and desolation. But when the signal is given to cease
mourning, "the performers," says M. Huc, "do not even stop to finish a
sob or a groan, but they take their pipes, and, lo! they are again those
incomparable Chinese, laughing, gossiping, and drinking tea."
It need not be said that Chinese women have an ample share of this
peculiar talent of their race, nor that they have very frequent occasion
to exercise it. Nowhere, even in the East, are women more subject or
more artful than in China. "When a son is born," as a Chinese authoress
remarks, "he sleeps upon a bed, he is clothed with robes, and plays with
pearls; every one obeys his princely cries. But when a girl is born, she
sleeps upon the ground, is merely wrapped in a cloth, plays with a tile,
and is incapable of acting either virtuously or viciously. She has
nothing to think of but preparing food, making wine, and not vexing her
parents." This arrangement the authoress _approves_, because it prepares
the girl to accept without repining the humiliations of her lot. It is a
proverb in China that a young wife should be in her house but "a shadow
and an echo." As in India, she does not eat with her husband, but waits
upon him in silent devotion till he is done, and then satisfies her own
appetite with inferior food.
Such is the theory of her position. But if we may judge from Chinese
satires, women are not destitute of power in the household, and employ
the arts of the oppressed with effect. Among the Chinese poems recently
translated by Mr. G. C. Stent in the volume called "The Jade Chaplet,"
there are a few in the satiric vein which attest the ready adroitness of
Chinese women in moments of crisis. According to an English author, "A
woman takes as naturally to a lie as a rat to a hole." The author of
these popular Chinese poems was evidently of the same opinion. The
specimen subjoined, which has not been previously published in the
United States, shows us that there is much in common between the jokes
of the two hemispheres of our mundane sphere.
"FANNING THE GRAVE.
"'Twas spring--the air was redolent
With many a sweet and grateful scent;
The peach and plum bloomed side by side,
Like blushing maid and pale-faced bride;
Coy willows stealthily were seen
Opening their eyes of living green--
As if to watch the sturdy strife
Of nature struggling into life.
"One sunny morn a Mr. Chuang
Was strolling leisurely along;
Viewing the budding flowers and trees--
Sniffing the fragrance-laden breeze--
Staring at those who hurried by,
Each loaded with a good supply
Of imitation sycee shoes,
To burn--for friends defunct to use--
Of dainty viands, oil, and rice,
And wine to pour in sacrifice,
On tombs of friends who 'neath them slept.
(Twas '3d of the 3d,' when the graves are swept.)
"Chuang sauntered on. At length, on looking round,
He spied a cozy-looking burial-ground;
'I'll turn in here and rest a bit,' thought he,
'And muse awhile on life's uncertainty;
This quiet place just suits my pensive mood,
I'll sit and moralize in pleasant solitude.'
So, sitting down upon a grassy knoll,
He sighed--when all at once upon him stole
A smothered sound of sorrow and distress,
As if one wept in very bitterness.
"Mr. Chuang, hearing this, at once got up to see,
Who the sorrowing mourner could possibly be,
When he saw a young woman _fanning a grave_.
Her 'three-inch gold lilies'[29] were bandaged up tight
In the deepest of mourning--her clothes, too, were white.[30]
Of all the strange things he had read of or heard,
This one was by far the most strange and absurd;
He had never heard tell of one _fanning a grave_.
"He stood looking on at this queer scene of woe,
Unobserved, but astounded, and curious to know
The reason the woman was _fanning the grave_.
He thought, in this case, the best thing he could do
Was to ask her himself; so without more ado,
He hemmed once or twice, then bowing his head,
Advanced to the woman and smilingly said,
'May I ask, madam, why you are _fanning that grave_?'
"The woman, on this, glancing up with surprise,
Looked as though she could scarcely believe her own eyes,
When she saw a man watching her _fanning the grave_.
He was handsome, and might have been thirty or more;
The garb of a Taoist he tastefully wore;
His kind manner soon put her quite at her ease,
So she answered demurely, 'Listen, sir, if you please,
And I'll tell you the reason I'm _fanning this grave_.
"'My husband, alas! whom I now (_sob_, _sob_) mourn,
A short time since (_sob_) to this grave (_sob_) was borne;
And (_sob_) he lies buried in this (_sob_, _sob_) grave.'
(Here she bitterly wept.) 'Ere my (_sob_) husband died,
He called me (_sob_) once more (_sob_, _sob_) to his side,
And grasping my--(_sob_) with his dying lips said,
"When I'm gone (_sob_, _sob_) promise (_sob_) never to wed,
_Till the mold is_ (sob) _dry on the top of my grave_."
"'I come hither daily to (_sob_) and to weep,
For the promise I gave (_sob_) I'll faithfully keep,
_I'll not wed till the mold is_ (sob) _dry on his grave_.
I don't want to marry again (_sob_), I'm sure,
But poverty (_sob_) is so hard to endure;
And, oh! I'm so lonely, that I come (_sob_) to try
_If I can't with my fan help the mold_ (sob) _to dry_;
_And that is the reason I'm fanning his grave_.'
"Hearing this, Chuang exclaimed, 'Madam, give me the fan.
I'll willingly help you as much as I can
In drying the mold on your poor husband's grave.'
She readily handed the fan up to Chuang
(Who in magic was skilled--as he proved before long),
For he muttered some words in a low under-tone,
Flicked the fan, and the grave was as dry as a bone;
'There,' said he, 'the mold's dry on the top of the grave.'
"Joy plainly was seen on the poor woman's face,
As she hastily thanked him, ere quitting the place,
For helping her dry up the mold on the grave.
Chuang watched her go off with a cynical sigh,
Thought he, 'Now suppose I myself were to die,
How long would _my_ wife in her weeds mourn my fate?
Would _she_, like this woman, have patience to wait
_Till the mold was well dry on her poor husband's grave?_'"
[Footnote 29: Small feet.]
[Footnote 30: White is the color worn as mourning in China.]
There is an amusing sequel to this poem, in which Chuang is exhibited
putting his wife to the test. Being a magician, endowed with miraculous
power, he pretends to die; and while his body is in its coffin awaiting
burial, he assumes the form of a handsome young man, and pays to his
mourning wife ardent court.
"In short, they made love, and the next day were wed;
She cheerfully changing her white clothes to red.[31]
Excited by drink, they were going to bed,
When Chuang clapped his hand to his brow--
He groaned. She exclaimed, 'What! are _you_ dying too?
_One_ husband I've lost, and got married to you;
Now _you_ are took bad. Oh, what shall I do?
Can I help you? If so, tell me how.'
"'Alas!' groaned the husband, 'I'm sadly afraid
The disease that I have is beyond human aid.
Oh! the sums upon sums I the doctors have paid!
There a remedy is, to be sure:
It is this: _take the brains from a living man's head_--
_If not to be had, get, and mash up instead
Those of one who no more than three days has been dead._
'Twill effect an infallible cure!'"
[Footnote 31: Red is worn on joyful occasions, such as weddings, etc.]
The distracted widow did not hesitate. There was the coffin of her
lamented husband before her, and he had not yet been dead three days:
"She grasped the chopper savagely, her brows she firmly knit,
And battered at the coffin until the lid was split.
But, oh! what mortal pen could paint her horror and her dread?
_A voice within exclaimed, 'Hollo!' and Chuang popped up his head!_
"'Hollo!' again repeated he, as he sat bolt-upright:
'_What made you smash my coffin in?--I see, besides, you're tight!
You've dressed yourself in red, too!_ What means this mummery?
Let me have the full particulars, and don't try on flummery.'
"She had all her wits about her, though she quaked a bit with fear.
Said she (the artful wretch!), 'It seems miraculous, my dear!
_Some unseen power impelled me to break the coffin-lid,
To see if you were still alive_--which, of course, you know I did!
"'_I felt sure you must be living; so, to welcome you once more,
My mourning robes I tore off, and my wedding garments wore;
But, were you dead, to guard against all noxious fumes, I quaffed,
As a measure of precaution, a disinfecting draught!_'
"Said Chuang, 'Your tale is plausible, but I think you'd better stop;
Don't fatigue yourself by telling lies; just let the matter drop.
_To test your faithfulness to me_, I've been merely shamming dead,
_I'm the youth you just now married--my widow I've just wed!_'"
Appended to these two poems, there is the regulation moral, in which
married ladies are warned not to be too sure of their constancy, nor
judge severely the poor widows who make haste to console themselves.
"Do your best, but avoid supercilious pride,
For you never can tell what you'll do till you're tried."
We can not say much for the translation of these comic works. Mr. Stent
is a high authority in the Chinese language and literature, but is not
at home in English prosody. It is plain, however, from his translations,
rough as they may be, that there is a comic vein in the Chinese
character which finds expression in Chinese literature.
[Illustration: A Deaf Mandarin. (From a Figure in the British
Museum.)[32]
[Footnote 32: "Malcolm's Caricaturing," plate iv., fig. 9.]]
Caricature, as we might suppose, is a universal practice among them;
but, owing to their crude and primitive taste in such things, their
efforts are seldom interesting to any but themselves. In Chinese
collections, we see numberless grotesque exaggerations of the human form
and face, some of which are not devoid of humor and artistic merit; but
the specimens given on this and the next page suffice for the present
purpose.
The Chinese, it appears, are fond of exhibiting their English visitors
in a ridiculous light. The caricature of an English foraging party,
given in the first part of this chapter, was brought home thirty years
ago by a printer attached to an American mission in China. Recently a
new illustration of this propensity has gone abroad. In 1874 an account
appeared in the English papers of the audience granted to the foreign
ministers by the Emperor of China, in which Mr. Wade, the English
embassador, was represented as having been overwhelmed with awe and
alarm in the presence of the august potentate, the Son of Heaven. The
origin of the paragraph was explained by the _Athenoeum_:
"The account was absurd in the extreme, and was universally recognized
as a squib, except by a writer in the columns of a weekly contemporary,
who gravely undertook the task of showing, by reference to the whole of
his previous career, how very unlikely it was that Mr. Wade should give
way to the weakness imputed to him. It now turns out that the imaginary
narrative first appeared in the columns of _Puck_, a comic paper (in
English), published at Shanghai; that it was translated into Chinese by
some native wag, who palmed it off on his countrymen as a truthful
account of the behavior of the English barbarian on this occasion; and
that some inquiring foreigner, ignorant of the source from whence it
came, retranslated it into English, and held it up as another instance
of the way in which the Chinese pamphleteers were attempting to
undermine our influence in China by covering our minister with
contempt!"
[Illustration: After Dinner. A Chinese Caricature. (From a Figure in the
British Museum.)[33]
[Footnote 33: "Malcolm's Caricaturing," plate iv., fig. 3.]]
The burlesque which thus imposed upon a London editor was a creditable
specimen of _Puck's_ comic talent: "His majesty having ascended the
throne, the envoys were led to the space at its foot, when they
performed the ceremony of inclining the body. They did not kneel. By the
side of the steps there was placed a yellow table, and the envoys stood
in rank to read out their credentials, the British having the leading
place. When he had read a few sentences, he began to tremble from head
to foot, and was incapable of completing the perusal. The emperor asked,
'Is the prince of your country well?' But he could utter no reply. The
emperor again asked, 'You have besought permission to see me time and
time again. What is it you have to say?' But again he was unable to make
an answer. The next proceeding was to hand in the credentials; but, in
doing this, he fell down on the ground time after time, and not a
syllable could he articulate. Upon this Prince Kung laughed loud at him
before the entire court, exclaimed 'Chicken-feather!' and gave orders to
have him assisted down the steps. He was unable to move of his own
accord, and sat down on the floor, perspiring and panting for breath.
The whole twelve shook their heads and whispered together no one knows
what. When the time came for the assembly at the banquet, they still
remained incapable, and dispersed in hurried confusion. Prince Kung said
to them, 'You would not believe that it is no light matter to come face
to face with his majesty; but what have you got to say about it
to-day?'"