Ty-foong passed--Pleasant Season--Theatrical Exhibition--The
Macàense--Philharmonic Society--Italian Opera--Awaiting Orders
for Home--Thoughts of Home and Friends--Idea suggested by the
Setting Sun--Poetry--Maladie de Pays--Its effects upon the
Swiss--A Remedy--My own Experience--And manner of Cure.
The symptoms of the Ty-foong having passed over, and all fears of its
recurrence at an end, time went pleasantly by at Macào. The temperature
was most delightful, this season being certainly the most agreeable in
this part of China, a number of foreign residents from Canton and
Hong-Kong adding to its gayety.
The Portuguese officers, aided by the citizens, got up for our
amusement a theatrical exhibition, at the old rooms formerly occupied
by the Philharmonic Society. The representations were very good, and
the accommodations for the audience excellent. Saw the _elité_ of Macào
at these performances, and must say the Macàense are not without a
goodly share of female beauty, although it is not apparent upon all
occasions, for the decline of the place has affected the finances of
the families, and their pride will not allow them to exhibit their
poverty upon common occasions, not that there was any evidence of it
here, for the ladies were all richly as well as tastily dressed.
It is perhaps not generally known that opera once flourished in Macào.
An Italian company, who had carried their "sweet voices" around the
world, once made these walls vocal with the music of Donnizetti,
Bellini, and others of their great maestros, and "Lucia di Lammermoor"
lamented her lost love, and the amiable Amina sobbed forth her
somnambulic sorrows for her false lover, upon these very boards.
The performance given upon this occasion was not in opera, but dramatic,
something about the troubles of a Jew--not _le Juif Errant_--although
this member of his tribe was off and on sufficiently to have given him a
claim to this title.
An interval, filled up by promenading to some pretty good music, was
succeeded by a funny farce, which sent the audience laughing to their
beds.
We awaited here the arrival of the Commodore, whom we had heard was to
bring us our release, and send us home immediately upon his reaching the
station. Had not a full view of the part of the horizon from which the
flagship might be expected to emerge, but many were the glasses directed
to the mouth of the Typa, from which a glimpse of the ocean could be
gained, and the quarter-masters of each watch were repeatedly ordered to
keep a good look-out. The fact was, we were getting tired of China, and
despite all the kind favors showered upon us, longed for home:
"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said:
This is my own--my native land!"
And thoughts of home and dear ones there, would intrude, and strong
desires once more to tread the soil of that loved native land, and to
press the hands of early and long-tried friends, could not be entirely
repressed, although not altogether just to "those we had here."
But we had been now nearly two years absent. Two years on shipboard is a
long, a very long time--try it if you doubt--and had seen nearly all
that was worthy of observation within our reach. Seas of immense extent
rolled between us and our homes, and the circumference of the globe had
to be traversed ere we could expect to meet our friends. No wonder then
that we so ardently desired to be allowed to point our prow towards the
West, or watching the retiring beams of the setting sun, envied that orb
the privilege that action gave, of kissing eyelids and gazing into eyes,
on which we were wont to gaze "lang syne," nor under the influence of
such thoughts that we should give them vent in this manner:
"Farewell, my love, the evening gun
Has boomed in echo o'er the sea;
My soul goes with that sinking sun,
Which sheds its rising beams on thee.
"May it bring to thee peace and joy,
Tho' here, it care and darkness leaves;
For gloomy thoughts my soul employ,
Which now no light from thine receives.
"Oh, for one old accustomed smile!
That dark eye's glance of lustrous light;
But these are distant many a mile,
And I can only sigh--Good Night!
"Good night, my love, whilst darkness lowers
Around our lone and silent bark,
Morning smiles sweetly on thy bowers,
And greeting, upwards flies the lark.
"Thou art the sun that glads my way,
Thine _eye_ the beam of life to me,
Thy _smile_ can turn my night to day,
As upwards speeds _my soul_ to thee."
I have before explained the causes which operated upon me to produce
such effects as above, and hope the reader, if ever he or she should
have been afflicted in either of the ways I have mentioned, will at
least tolerate the method of alleviation.
This "_maladie-de-pays_" is a horrible sensation, worse than
sea-sickness, I ween, and I can fully sympathize with the poor Swiss,
who are said to have fallen victims to it in the armies of Napoleon. He
should have allowed pens, ink, and any quantity of writing paper; they
might have relieved their minds by _scribbling_. Music is also said to
be a capital cure, although the "_Ranz des Vaches_" did not succeed; but
I judge from the cheerful countenances of those of their countrymen who
are in the habit of parading our streets with a hand organ and monkey,
and enlivening us with the air of
"Arouse thee, arouse thee, my merry Swiss boy."
For myself I have only experienced the malady twice. The first
attack occurred, when with a heart rather more tender than at the
present writing, I was left amongst a parcel of strange inquisitive
boys, at a boarding-school in the country, at what then appeared to
my unsophisticated mind away "'tother side of yonder;"--I shall
never forget, although I may laugh at it now, the feeling of utter
desolateness that came over me, or how low sank my little heart,
even to the very soles of my stockings, when the Dominie, whose face
was fast forgetting the smiles it had worn in my good parents'
presence, inquired in a tone half hypocritical, half ironical: "What
does the young gentleman want now?" and I blubberingly answered,
"I--want--to--go--go--home." I recovered from that attack with the
aid of counter irritation by the application of birch, and emollients
in the shape of scribbling verses to the metre of "dulce--dulce
domum." The effects of the second are now before the reader, from
which I opine he is the greatest sufferer, and this is dispersed by
music, for the "retreat" has just been beaten, and I shall turn in.