Inside Canton/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
In the evening, on returning to our charming house, Thè-ki-Han, we found Pan-se-Chen waiting for us. The worthy Mandarin had come to keep us company and dine with us. In order that we might not he too lonely, he had invited two commercial delegates, MM. Bondot and Renard, to meet us. We were served in the European fashion—that is to say, a Chinese servant, the pupil of some horrible English cook, had prepared a series of those insipid hits of fried or roasted meat which people eat in London with potatoes. We gulped down, sadly enough, the culinary inventions due to the anything but gastronomical genius of the Anglo-Saxon race, when, duly displayed upon a handsome silver dish, there appeared a species of game, which is not treated so magnificently in Europe. This was a rat, a real rat, a surmulot. Nothing was wanting, neither head nor tail. We could even see that the defunct was no longer young: the incisors descending from its upper jaw were long, and as yellow as two old fish forgotten at the bottom of a card-box. I do not know whether Pan perceived the impression produced on me by this denizen of the sewers, but he felt bound to assure us as to its descent.
"Be kind enough to explain to your friends," he said to Callery, "that this animal comes from the rice-fields inundated by the Tchou-kiang: he was caught far from the centre of population; far from the muddy gutters of cities. In his infancy he played at the feet of the banana-trees and litchis, and, at a later period, fed on the sweet stalks and farinaceous grains of rice. At good tables, these rural and innocent rats are the only ones served up: the city rats, defiled with mud and living on stagnant waters, are left for the coolies and porters. It is the same with cats: a gastronomist eats wild cats, but despises the familiar inmates of our houses, that lie on our roofs and burrow in our cellars."
As we see, it is the everlasting story of tame rabbits and wild rabbits, although the one are no better than the other. I know there are people who, while eating them, console themselves with these subtile distinctions. However, we had no need to be so completely edified on the descent of the rodent to induce us to taste it; we were free from prejudice. We took some on our plates, and unanimously thought it very bad. Was its age the cause? I do not know. But this did not prevent us from doing honour to the eccentric dish, and, when there was nothing left but the tail, M. Renard took it, put it in his memorandum book, and preserved it as a reminiscence of the dinner. Of how many stories has not this tail been the subject in the hands of an old commercial traveller—of a witty commercial traveller?
I must charge myself with an act of baseness. I did all I could to make Pan understand that I did not like rats, but that M. de Lagrené was very fond of them, and that he ought to have some served up for him every day, because they were a kind of game very scarce in France. But Callery would not lend himself to the wicked joke. Thanks to this reserve on the part of our dear interpreter, M. de Lagrené was deprived of the pleasure of seeing these long-tailed rodents on his table.
But our host had a more agreeable surprise in store for us. When we came to the dessert, a flat dish, covered with a red lacquered cover, was placed on the table. On it was written:—"Kneaded and prepared in my house of mourning." Pan told us it contained cakes sent us by his thirteen wives. He took off the cover, and we admired a multitude of little cakes and small, fatty, sweet tit-bits, cut up with charming art. When we reflected that it was Pan's charming daughters and the wives, fragile and trembling as the foliage of the willow, of this intrepid husband, who had prepared, on purpose for us, these sweets, strongly aromatised, we could find no expressions strong enough to describe how exquisite their flavour appeared. These said cakes of short paste were really good, very good—Julien, by the way, makes better.
I have said the inscription traced upon the cover ran thus:—"Prepared in my house of mourning." This is a Chinese custom. Pan was then in mourning, and was bound, according to the usages of his country, to state, under all circumstances, the loss which had overtaken him. It is thus that, even in Paris, I have eaten at Callery's some preserves of which our Mandarin had made him a present, and which also bore the obligatory inscription,—"Preserves made in 1846, in my house of mourning."
The Chinese, initiated by the English in European manners, believe that all Western nations indulge in pass wine. Our good friend Pan, therefore, true to the laws of hospitality, determined on practising with us this good Britannic custom. He had a bottle of excellent Château-Margaux brought up, and, after a servant had carefully filled our glasses, our amiable Mandarin, like a man worthy of living in Aquitania, took the crystal vase, and, placing it between his eye and the light, to admire the diaphanous spirits playing about in the liquid garnet, said to Callery:—
"Of all European drinks, this is that which I prefer; I am completely accustomed to it. When I have been drinking this wine, I can smell in the recesses of my palace a perfume preferable to that of the la-meï which sweetens the mountains of Hiang-chan!"
Callery communicated to us Pan's words, and we exclaimed spontaneously,—
"Dignus, dignus es entrare!"
We would willingly have embraced him.
After the homage thus paid to this joyous product of the West, the Mandarin desired that I should be asked how I liked Canton. Thanks to the good humour I was in, my answer must have peculiarly flattered his national self-lore. However, on concluding, I told him I deplored having been able to see only half of Canton. Pan did not at first understand my meaning, but when Callery explained to him the regret I felt at not being able to penetrate into the walled city, he burst out laughing, and replied:
"Why, the city inside the walls is not as fine as that outside them. If it were preferable, I should live in it. Every day rich men leave the enclosed part, and settle upon the banks of the stream, for the purpose of breathing the air which is rendered fresh by the water; while men who have become rich never return into the Tartar city."
"But," I returned, "there are numerous palaces, temples, and elegant houses there."
"Without doubt there are; but not one of these palaces is equal to my house in beauty; the very streets in which they are erected are more melancholy than the others; all these edifices are surrounded by walls which hide them from the view. The figures alone, painted on the outer doors, denote the dignity of the proprietors."
"Yes, I understand that. But what life! what a multitude of people must elbow each other in the streets, since the suburbs resemble ant-hills. In the city—the true city—the people must run against each other and be mingled together like a swarm of bees flying away from any spot."
"It is precisely the contrary which is the case!" exclaimed Pan. "Most of the streets are as deserted as those of a village, and the most frequented ones are far less noisy than the Chinese quarter in Macao!"
"I do not care for that," I added, obstinately; "I should like to get inside, were it only to behold a thousand strange scenes, to note a thousand eccentric customs, and, in a word, to observe a Chinese population left to itself."
"I sometimes think Europeans a little mad," said Pan, shaking his head. "Why should you suppose the men behind the walls of defence different from those outside? Both the former and the latter are at home, and they in no wise change their customs, whether you observe them or no."
"I know that it is a settled thing" I said with resignation, "and that you will not allow the barbarians to come among you. But at any rate you will allow that it would be very important for me, who have come so far for the purpose of seeing your cities and observing your manners, to visit a large city inhabited by the tsun-tun (viceroy), the fou-yuen (lieutenant-governor), the tséan-keun (Tartar general), the keo-yuen (literary chancellor), the pouchin-tze (receiver-general), and, lastly, all the officials of a viceroyalty of twenty-seven million of inhabitants; and which, in addition to all this, possesses a population of rich citizens, literary men, students, and soldiers, and the monumental streets of which are intersected with canals on which thousands of vessels are riding."
At this enumeration. Pan was seized with a fresh fit of gaiety. He then replied, very tranquilly:
"If it is absolutely necessary for your happiness to visit the walled city, we will introduce you; but remember my prediction: when you return safe and sound, you will regret having incurred real danger for so little. In the first place, you cannot in any manner get in with your European clothes; even those of your nation who pretend to have passed in their usual dress the threshold of Chin-se-Moun, or of Tai-pin-Moun, are guilty of an impudent lie; the guard that keeps watch at the entrance is vigilant, and nothing diverts it from its duty. You will, therefore, put on our apparel; you will conceal your eyes beneath barnacles of tea-stone; you will shade your face behind a fan; and, thus packed up, you will be carried in by my coolies in a chair. But, in spite of these precautions, your spectacles may come off, and you may utter a cry; if you should then be recognised by the populace, you and I run the greatest danger; they will rush on you as on an enemy, and set fire to my house as that of a traitor."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed; "nothing of the sort will happen. At any rate, let us try."
At these words, Pan raised his hands towards heaven, as if he despaired of making me hear reason, and continued:
"Listen to me; and if you carry out your mad notions, you will see I have not deceived you. The new town, or Chinese town, is not finer than T'sin-chan, or the bazaar at Macao; and I would not change Thè-ki-Han for the palace of Ki-In or that of the Hoppo, both of which are in the south-western part of the city. The old or Tartar city, with the exception of three or four streets, similar to the Hoèi-gai-kiaï (the Street of Benevolent Affection), which extends from the Chin-tun-Moun Gate to the Chin-se-Moun Gate, contains only narrow, tortuous lanes. The houses of these fetid passages are built of earth and bamboo. The five-storeyed tower is the most remarkable monument in this portion of the town; but, as it is stuck on the summit of one of the hills up which the ramparts climb, you can perceive it quite as well from any elevated spot as if you were on the ground which surrounds it. This edifice, called Ou-tsen-Lann, and generally supposed to be a pagoda, is an historical monument that is carefully preserved: it was the villa of one of the kings of the country.
"The temples in the space within the walls are not architecturally more elegant and grandiose than those in the suburbs. The most spacious and most beautiful is that of Kouan-heaou-Tze; it stands in the Tartar town, at the north-west point. Like nearly all religious edifices, it is surrounded by grounds, let out to persons who cultivate them, and the revenue of which is devoted to maintaining the bonzes. These large cultivated plots, where rice, pe-tsaï, pai-taou, and various other vegetables, grow in the open air, lend these bonzeries the appearance of those solitary places where sages formerly went to meditate. But, as soon as you pass the gate, you perceive you are in the centre of a corrupt city. The court-yards are filled with dirty beggars, worn to the bones by misery, playing cards, quarrelling, or asleep on the ground, waiting for the alms the priests give them. If such are the scenes of which you are in search, you will witness a similar spectacle in the court-yard of the pagoda of Chan-chou-gan, and in that of the temple of Hae-chou-Tze.
"It is these vast religious edifices, and these palaces surrounded by high walls, which give the walled city its silent and mournful look. In the quarters occupied by these monuments, everything makes a sensation: the procession of a mandarin, or the least noise which breaks the customary silence, causes the idle inhabitants to run to their thresholds.
"The description I have just given, applies to the elegant streets and the respectable quarters; but, after you have passed the palaces of the Fou-yuen, the Tséan-keun, and the Pou-chin-tze, still proceeding towards the north, you enter the Ki-tcha-kiaï, which offers a most revolting spectacle. This quarter stands on an immense extent of ground, ceded to the Tartars at the time of the conquest of Kuang-ton. The descendants of the persons to whom it was formerly ceded, are still at the present day as barbarous as their forefathers, those nomade soldiers, who lived in tents: They inhabit perfect dens, built of dried mud; the uneven ground serves as their flooring. These places contain only one room, in which men, women, and children—quite naked and emaciated—eat, sleep, and swarm with vermin, in a state of idleness. Before the entrance hangs a rattan mat. It is neither the modesty of the women, nor the fear of thieves, which has interposed this veil between these frightful interiors and the indiscreet glances of the passers by, but simply the necessity of a protection against the north wind. The hideous lanes, bordered by these dirty huts, are not paved; the least shower hollows out the ground and forms stinking puddles, which resemble reservoirs, destined to collect the liquid mud which the rain drives before it."
"All this is, certainly, not very beautiful," I exclaimed. "But are there not fine fountains and broad canals to wash away this filth?"
"Yes, you would find, at the foot of the northern hills, magnificent basins; the water which reposes in these natural shells, resembles vigour hanging in the air. The azure sheets of it which flow down from the surface are divided into two branches: one spreads through the city, and the other flows out behind the ramparts. The first disappears quickly in the mud of the street; the second flees joyously away, bounding beyond the walls, happy not to be soiled by contact with the fetid waters that stagnate before the houses. These are the only springs which the city contains. In nearly all the streets there are wells, and many houses have cisterns to receive the rain water.
"As to the veins of the city (the internal canals), they surround its walls and traverse it in all directions—they are chiefly intended to convey travellers and merchandise; these heavy-laden waters relieve man from fatigue, and are straightened into canals rather for utility than for ornament. You may see the chief of these conduits; it is close to the factories, and enters the new city near the gate of Tai-pin-Moun, by a passage which is closed every night, but opened during the day by a ksapèque. This artificial river terminates in a basin before the palace of Wan-chou-Keoun, which—roofing, doors, and ornaments—is entirely yellow, because it belongs to the emperor. There is a tablet there, on which is inscribed the name of our great sovereign, the son of heaven. On every grand fête, all the functionaries come to pay homage to this glorious name, which they contemplate, for a certain time, in a more respectful attitude than they would assume before their master himself. No one has a right to sit down on any article of furniture in this palace. The highest dignitaries have cushions brought, on which they crouch on the floor cross-legged."
Pan-se-Chen interrupted himself, smiling, a moment; then added:
"I have given you a description of the city, which ought to satisfy the most eager curiosity; but I know that Europeans are self-willed, and I fear I have not succeeded in making you abandon your project."
Without replying directly to this reflection of our friend, I said:
"How happens it that your government, which so anxiously isolates the interior population from all contact with foreigners, allows this wall, which encloses two official cities, to fall into ruin? This barrier, if good care be not taken, will soon cease to exist; a few cannon shots of the barbarians would quickly open a breach that would never be closed."
"Indeed," replied Pan, "the stones which form the inside layers have become softer than a ripe blade of corn, and the walls fall to dust. The men of the city Tchin-jin, too, are base and vacillating. But why, at present, incur a useless expense, as we are not at war? Besides, the northern walls are in a very good state, and, according to all rule, that is the point on which we ought to be attacked."
What was there to reply to such reasons? Nothing!
"I have been told," I resumed, "that the wall of the two cities has sixteen gates. How are these distributed? Is this number of entrances equally divided along the whole extent of the wall?"
"The ramparts, indeed, have sixteen gates," said Pan; "but twelve of these are exterior, and four interior; that is to say, the latter form the means of communication between the Tartar and the Chinese cities: they are inserted in the wall which separates them. The old city, although the wall that surrounds it has four times the extent of that part which incloses the new city, only communicates with the exterior by four gates. They are situated—the first two at the north angle and the north-east angle; the two others stretch from east to west, and terminate at the extremities of the Street of Benevolent Affection, Hoèi-gai-kiaï, which traverses, as I have already said, the whole length of the Tartar city.
"As to the Chinese city, it communicates by nine gates with the exterior; seven are opened in the south wall, which runs along the suburb, to facilitate commercial intercourse; and two are opened at the east and at the west, opposite each other. The first, the gate of Eternal Repose, is near the Hospital of Foundlings, You-yng-Tang: strangers sometimes visit it. The second, Tai-pin-Moun, is near the factories. A Tartar general is always on duty at the Eternal Repose, Yung-gan-Moun, and a sentinel, pike-in-hand, a conical hat, with red horse hair plumage, on his head, a placard, with large inscriptions on his breast, and boots with beaver soles on his feet, paces day and night before its threshold."
"At night, I know, the gates are shut which communicate with the suburbs and the country, but are the others also shut which connect the two official cities?"
"Certainly!" exclaimed Pan, surprised at this question.
"Why, then," said I, "since you have nothing to fear from without, why this excess of precautions? What interest could the people of the Chinese city have in creating disorder in the Tartar city? or why should the inhabitants of the latter disturb the tranquillity of their neighbours?"
"This results," said our friend, sententiously, "from our political organisation. The prudence of our sovereigns has so ordered matters as to make treasons and seditions impossible."
"The deuce!" we exclaimed; "if you can give us the recipe without betraying the laws of the state, you will do us great service."
Fan reflected a few moments, then continued thus:—
"As the new city is at present separated from the old—the Tartar city was formerly divided into four distinct parts independent the one of the other, and surrounded by fortified walls. The object of this regulation was to isolate the functionaries, and to put them under mutual superintendence, as too frequent intercourse might induce them to hatch plots, or at least to relax from the severity which is indispensable in official relations. This system of separation and surveillance is the one which still prevails in the policy of the Empire. The government, for instance, of the two Kuangs is thus organised: The chief authority of the two provinces is the viceroy, who inhabits the Chinese city. All the functionaries are appointed by him, and are bound to execute his orders without hesitation. But each of these superior agents, has, in his own particular sphere, an independence which the authority of the viceroy cannot touch, who himself, in certain circumstances, cannot act, till he has asked the advice and obtained the consent of his inferiors. The second authority is again a functionary of the civil order; he is the fou-yuen, the vice-governor, who resides in the Tartar city. His power extends only over the province of the Kuang-ton, which he governs on his own personal responsibility; but in consequence of the solidarity which exists between the several delegates of authority, the viceroy, even in urgent cases, cannot inflict the punishment of death without having obtained the assent of this functionary. The third Cantonal authority is military. The Tartar general is responsible for the safety of the city, and commands a force of 5,000 men. But he cannot exercise them in any strategic manœuvres without having obtained the authorisation of the viceroy. Despite his title of commander-in-chief, the tsean-keoun is not the only ruler who has regiments under his orders; the viceroy commands 5,000 men, and the vice-governor 2,000. But the former is obliged to keep his little army at a certain distance from the walled city.
"Now see how the authorities mutually watch each other. In the new city, by the side of the palace of the viceroy, rises the residence of the grand hoppo, whose political importance is much greater than the obscure functions of director of the customs would lead one to suppose. The grand hoppo is usually a man belonging to the household of the Emperor, either an old domestic, or one of those petty relations—parasite branches which spring numerously up from the imperial stock. The devotedness of this functionary is the more absolute as he is so nearly connected with the sovereign; he is a familiar spy so placed as to observe all the proceedings of the viceroy. In the Tartar city the fou-yuen, who is generally a learned Chinese, having obtained his high position by literary success, is superintended by the Tartar general, who is a soldier, and thus by brutal instinct averse to all which despises force and recognises only intellectual superiority. The antagonism of these two functionaries is still heightened by their difference of race, the one belonging to the conquering, and the other to the subjected nation. Nevertheless, as the spirit of rebellion breaks out more frequently in gross and ignorant natures than among persons of cultivated minds, the real interpreters of the law—the viceroy and the fou-yuen—have under their orders seven thousand men to oppose, in case of need, to the five thousand soldiers at the disposition of the tséan-keoun.
"The criminal judge is, after the authorities I have just named, the most dreaded power in Canton. He judges alone, but when capital punishment is to be inflicted, he cannot pronounce sentence without the concurrence of the other chiefs of the province. Besides, such a sentence is never executed immediately; it requires the ratification of the Emperor. It is only in case of a rebellion that the viceroy and the fou-yuen can together, being perfectly agreed, cause a criminal to be put to death without referring to Pekin.
"We must not believe that the people are without resources against the exactions of the mandarins, errors of justice, &c.; the most humble inhabitant of the province may always appeal to the viceroy, who twice a month receives all petitions addressed to him.
"You see, then, in China authority is graduated like the creations of nature. In mountainous regions one usually sees a pinnacle which commands the whole country; by its side are mountains whose elevation descends insensibly, and if the eye of the traveller follows these descents he will shortly see in the plain but insignificant undulations which soon escape perception altogether. Thus it is with the authority of the son of heaven; by viceroys, sub-governors, judges and generals, it comes down to the people, where it is manifested only by the presence of inferior agents, sub-prefects and mayors."
"It is true," said I, laughing: "but it appears to me that the charge of these latter must be very light; they are invested with so small an authority, that their responsibility cannot run any great risks."
"You deceive yourself," replied Pan; "doubtless they have not to interfere in state affairs; they are not consulted about treaties of commerce, about declarations of war, and terms of peace; all that concerns the national unity is confined to the high mandarins. What light could these inhabitants of the country, entirely governed by local influence, bring to the discussion of these questions? But they are masters at home; with the old men of the village they form an administrative council, which regulates the rate of taxation, keeps the public roads in repair, supplies granaries of reserved corn, and considers the best means of preventing bad harvests, and preserving social order. These are occupations suited to their intelligence, for which all that is required is probity and good sense."
At this last piece of information I cried out:—
"Thank you, my friend; I abandon at present my intention of penetrating within the walls of the city, but on one condition—introduce me to a Chinese family!"
"Certainly! to mine."
This was replying like an amiable and well educated man in all countries. I stretched out my hand to my dear mandarin, and we each of us returned to our own home. It was in consequence of this conversation, of which I have faithfully transcribed all the details, that I gave up the design of visiting the official city; my readers need not regret this. The descriptions and appreciations of Pan-se-Chen, are worth more than the accounts of those travellers who have already passed the gate of Chin-se-Moun, when … but you know the rest. I should add, that the whole of this conversation was owing to the extreme complaisance of Callery. I have more than once substituted my own name for his in reporting the incidents of this soirée; but that does not affect, in the slightest degree, the perfect truth of my recital.