# Inside Canton/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
We will now leave terra firma, and in the tanka of the beautiful A-moun go through the floating-town, and the agitated streets of which the Tchou-kiang nurses incessantly the innumerable inhabitants.
Our boatwoman, seated in the front of the vessel, handled the light oars with much skill; A-fay, her little sister, who stood a little in the rear, held the rudder, whilst Bandot and myself, lying down beneath the covering of bamboos, and eager to see everything, left to our charming crew the care of conducting us according to the caprice of their fancy. The floating-town of Canton is, to all the Europeans who visit the Celestial Empire, the object of an exclusive predilection; for them China, the real China, the fantastic China of our screens, fans, and lacquer work, is all on the river which balances on its overhanging surface, &c., a population more numerous than that of Marseilles, Naples, Vienna, or Turin.
The sight of this marvellous city produced a magic effect upon me as I visited the populous bed ​of the Tchou-kiang. I was filled with a genuine enthusiasm, and now that I go over my recollections, I feel that the impression was a just one; that like most things that we meet with in the world, the city of waters ought to be studied silently, in order to comprehend its strange grandeur. There are certain beauties which can only be discovered by reflection. When the traveller sits down for the first time at the foot of the great pyramid of Giseh, he experiences no more emotion than a Parisian at the foot of Montmartre. This Cyclopean pile says nothing to his imagination, but if he walks round the base, if he climbs up the stone steps, in order to reach the summit, he then begins to realise what human efforts such a labour has necessitated, and he is struck with wonder. As the astonishing monument assumes colossal proportions in his eyes, the spectator somehow multiples the mass by the number of arms which have erected it, and he experiences a genuine admiration for the work whose greatness reveals in so striking a manner what men are capable of producing by the union of their efforts.
The mind goes through an analogous operation before the floating-city of Canton. The first feeling which is experienced at the sight of this plain cut into long lines, of this immense harbour, as populous as our largest cities, is one of stupefaction; but when we descend to the slightest details of the ​private life of its inhabitants, living by themselves in the midst of its waters; when we see that this town, without its fellow in the world, is, like all the great centres of population, a microcosm in itself, in which nothing is absent that tends to the satisfaction of human wants, we become enthusiastic about the industrious people, who have thus contrived to appropriate the agitated bed of a river to all the exigencies of our nature.
The town of boats occupies a space of several leagues of the Tchou-kiang; it is divided into quarters like London and Paris, and like our great cities has its commercial streets, and its fashionable districts. The suburbs—that is to say, the part of the river which is inhabited by the lowest class—are composed of narrow, winding streets, all very much alike. They consist of lines of tankas, with their coverings of bamboo, moored sideways, and presenting all the appearance of the vessels I have described elsewhere in speaking of Macao. During the day, you never see a man in these boats; the women and children alone remain in the wretched dwelling, while the father is engaged up the river loading the vessels of the barbarians, or disembarking the merchandise contained in the junks which furnish Canton with its enormous supplies.
The fishermen's street adjoins the quarter inhabited by these laborious classes; their habitations are more vast than those of the poor carriers, and ​there is much more animation in the place. As soon as they return from fishing, anchor has scarcely been cast when the children with naked feet run along the shore; they pass from one boat to another, to stretch out the nets. The men sitting down upon the ground examine the nets, mend the holes made in the preceding expedition, and the women at the back of the little house, prepare the family dinner on a portable stove made of plaster. The fishermen in this amphibious society represent the horticulturists and gardeners who supply large towns. Every morning they plough the inexhaustible plains of the ocean, and furnish the market with the principal object of consumption. The fishermen's street has certainly the most varied aspect of any in the universe. When the weather is fine, each habitation becomes detached from the one next it, and this part of the floating city is sometimes absent for days together. Then, when the fishing is over, the rising tide brings back the travelling abode to its starting place, and the two rows of houses resume their place in the floating city. For the rest, on this liquid soil the appearance of the streets changes every moment. A movement of the tide, a gust of wind, a sudden decrease in the pressure of the atmosphere, and the position of the town is completely changed. For instance, at the approach of a tempest the large vessels turn round, and present to the wind the least assailable portion ​of their hull. The little boats gather together, and place themselves under the shelter of the large ones; and these changes are sufficient to render a quarter unrecognizable even to a person who has passed through it only an instant before.
There are, however, a few rows of houses which always preserve their habitual physiognomy. These belong to merchants, private persons, and sometimes to public institutions. These peaceful habitations, which could never set sail, and on board of which it would be very difficult to make use of oars, seldom change their position. They are real houses, with only one side to the water, and placed on the hull of a vessel. The entrance is at the back, if there can be said to be a back. It is left wide open so as to let the air circulate freely, and the rooms have windows furnished with nankeen blinds. The pediment of the outer door is adorned with sculpture and with large characters written on red paper or cut in relief. These inscriptions generally signify happiness, prosperity, longevity. The Chinese, who are naturally not very mystical, do not care for much beyond the happiness of this world. These trading districts, with their floating habitations painted all kinds of colours, and adorned in artistic style, have really all the appearance of Chinese streets on dry land. The illusion would indeed be complete were it not for the fact that you proceed through these streets in a boat, when you ​may see the largest of these edifices agitated by the current and the rise and fall of the waves. Here, however, as in Physic Street, there are shops of all kinds and trades of every nature. In the city of Tchou-kiang I have seen not only carpenters' and tailors' shops, but druggists' laboratories, ready-made clothing warehouses, fortune-tellers,' and professsional letter-writers' stalls, and even a pawnbroker's establishment.
These banks of misery and vice are not directed in China by philanthropic societies; they are entrusted to private speculators, who carry on their trade under the superintendence of the mandarins. It is true that this superintendence is only nominal; the functionaries only remind the directors of their existence, by extorting money from them from time to time. It is in this way that the inspectors of the finances of the Celestial Empire usually perform their functions; nothing is perfect under the sun. The pawnbroker of Tchou-kiang occupied one of the finest boats in the merchants' street; the façade, well varnished, well decorated, bore an inscription, of which the impertenent appropriatness must often have excited the anger of the habitués of the establishment. It was as follows: "Practise economy, so as not to borrow." The Chinese alone are capable of robbing their customers and preaching morality at the same time. When we went on board, we found the ​master of the place comfortably installed in the interior of the apartment, on the left of the entrance, just beneath the little altar, which is quite indispensable; he was seated before a table, on which bundles of paper were seen arranged in order, and which were surrounded by a magnificent calculating machine. The Chinese proprietor was handsome, radiant, and prepossessing; his head, taken altogether, was remarkably long, and was resting softly upon a handsome fur dress; finally, he had more the look of a jolly companion than of a usurer; but appearances are so awfully deceitful! When he saw us, our friend gave us a little patronising bow, as much as to say, "I know what brings you;" but when our Chinese interpreter explained to him that we were inquiring travellers and not customers, he rose and overwhelmed us with the warmest manifestations of Chinese politeness. The objects deposited with him were arranged on shelves, on which were inscribed the dates of the loans, and the time granted to the debtors for repaying them. Whilst we were examining, with interest, the room which contained this large collection of curiosities, our guide endeavoured to prove to us the morality of his profession, by persuading us that the pledges which had been left with him would gain considerably by passing through his hands.
"They generally bring us nothing but dirty and ​half worn-out rags; but as soon as I receive them I clean them carefully, and it often happens that when they redeem them, which seldom occurs, the owners are astonished to receive quite a new article, instead of the old thing they had left sometime before. The transformation which these rags undergo in my hands, is itself worth all the interest I receive."
After this, it must be admitted that the pawnbrokers of Europe are mere children compared with those of the Celestial Empire; the former have never thought of this argument in proof of the excellence of their profession.
As the honest usurer said, the articles left with him were for the most part mere rubbish; they were half worn-out clothes, women's trousers, a few ornaments—the remnants of more prosperous times—a few hereditary pieces of furniture, which the owners had not wished to sell, doubtless from respect to some cherished memory; all which proved to us that it was misery rather than vice which supported this den of usury. We could obtain no information as to the sums advanced annually by these houses, nor as to the rate of interest; to every question on the subject, our Chinese linguist replied by affecting not to understand us.
At first it appeared extraordinary to us that peaceable citizens, people who had retired from business and were in search of quiet, should take ​up their abode in moveable habitations which were constantly in a state of agitation; but a circumstance soon proved to us that the Cantonese who chose their domiciles on the river among were the most prudent and artistically inclined of all the inhabitants of the Empire of Flowers. One day I was proceeding with Callery and a Chinese physician named Kou-Mao to the most distant quarter of the city of boats. We had reached a narrow passage, with floating residences of good appearance on either side, when our native companion asked us if we should like to visit one of his friends. On our replying in the affirmative, he ordered our boatmen to continue along the passage up which we had been proceeding; but gradually, as we advanced, Kou-Mao gave viable signs of astonishment, and at last, meeting some one he was acquainted with, he inquired where the house of his said friend was moored.
The reply was as follows:—
"You have long passed the place that it generally occupies, but you need not take the trouble to look for it. I met it yesterday going down the canal, and I don't think it has come back yet."
At Paris, when a concierge tells us that our most intimate friend is not at home, we have often a thousand reasons for believing that he is telling a falsehood, and we go away with regret; but on the Tchou-kiang, the absence of the house itself leaves no doubt of that of the proprietor. We steered round, ​and descended the canal. Towards evening, we were about to enter our house at Thè-ki-Han, when the doctor suddenly called out, "I see my friend's house," and he told the boatman to make for a very pretty water residence, which was only at a few cables' length from the place where we were being entertained. As soon as Kou-Mao saw the proprietor of this itinerant abode, he explained to him, after some indispensable compliments, the trouble he had had in finding him. The latter replied sententiously:
"It is true that I inhabit the canal when I wish to enjoy that calm and solitude which a sage desires; but sometimes, according to the season, I quit my habitual station to enjoy the beauties of nature, and the charms presented by other localities. During the spring, I ascend the river to admire the green rice grounds, enclosed by bamboos and trees in bloom; at a later period, I descend to where the river is broad, and where there is always a breeze. I witness all day long the coming and going of a thousand vessels which are entering or leaving the river. I perform these little voyages without putting myself out—without altering my habits in any respect. Yesterday, I heard that the men of the West had arrived at the house of Poun-tin-Koua—the plebeian name of Pan-se-Chen—and I came to take up my position here in order to see them: they cannot come out now ​without passing before my eyes. These barbarians have two little girls with them that I wish to see; I wish to judge for myself whether they are prettier than my 'Ten-thousand-pieces-of-gold' as I am told they are." The little girls were Masdemoiselle Gabriel and Olga de Lagrené, and the "Ten-thousand-pieces-of-gold" the daughter of the speaker.
Kou-Mao hastened to inform his friend that we belonged to the party that had just arrived at the house of Pan-se-Chen, and that M. Gallery understood New Chinese like a member of the academy of Hau-lin. This news delighted the aquatic philosopher.
All these habitations, built on the oval hull of a ship, have the form of a long square; so that round about them there is a narrow space, where it is easy to walk, provided you are not giddy. Here men place themselves, with long poles in their hands, to move the house when the proprietor wishes to change the scene. As the craft have neither sails nor rudders, they are moved by means of these poles, which are thrust into the bed of the river, the holders leaning upon them with all their weight; of course it is necessary to keep close to the banks of the river in order to avoid holes.
Kou-Mao's friend took us inside his house; the room in which he received us was like all Chinese rooms belonging to the middle classes. Long strips of painted paper, representing flowers, scenes from ​comedies, or sometimes merely sentences written in large characters, were suspended from the walls; there was nothing in the centre of the room; at the sides were two black tables opposite one another, and arm-chairs, of reed or wood, all round. On our arrival, an elderly female of distinguished appearance, bowed and then retired discreetly; another woman, young and becomingly whitened with rice flour, soon after brought us some tea. The two women represented in this household Sarah and her servant Hagar; the distance which separated them, was especially indicated by the deformity of the one's feet, and the ample and commodious shoes of the other. But there was nothing to predict for the latter the fate of the Egyptian slave: she was the mother of the "Ten-thousand-pieces-of-gold," and it was not to be presumed that Sarah would ever make amends for her long sterility. This establishment was peaceable and comfortable; all the family seemed happy. We heaped a thousand caresses on "Ten-thousand-pieces-of-gold," who, at a word from her father, came and seated herself familiarly on my knees; it could be seen that the affection of the whole family was centred in this little child: her feet were not yet compressed, but her face was painted; and her head was surrounded with a little band of black velvet, delicately embroidered with green and gold silk.
​The abode of our new acquaintance remained several days at anchor before Thè-ki-Han. As it was painted in green and gold lines, some of our companions took it for one of those boats of doubtful morality which are called in Chinese "Tuen-poo," and in Portuguese "Cama de desence." From the room we occupied we could see right into the habitation of our amphibious neighbour. As soon as evening arrived, the master of the house sat down before his door with a fan in his hand, while his two companions were seated—the threshold of the inner door opposite one another, and "Ten-thousand-pieces-of-gold" played at their feet. First of all they talked, then the young woman took some stringed instrument, and accompanied herself with it as she sang one of those strange songs which are never without their charm on the banks of the Tchou-kiang. This tranquil scene was only illuminated by the transparent light which came from the sky, and by the pale flames of the wax tapers which were burning before the altar of the household god.
The reader doubtless expects that I should give him some particulars of those celebrated flower-boats, which are almost as famous as certain public balls in Paris; I will satisfy him. Besides, a visit to the flower-boats, at this hour of the day, by the light of the sun, is in nowise compromising. It is exactly the same as among ourselves, where a person may, without ​shocking anybody, visit in the middle of the day one of our grand choreographic establishments; for the female crew who man the flower-boats shun the rays of the sun, like the lepbastered heart-moths of all countries; they abandon the vessels at the first dawn of day, which is why strangers can then visit them. For my own part, I was admitted on board several of these establishments with Messrs. Rondot, Renard, and Hausman, for a mere trifle, and throughout the day not the slightest obstacle was offered to our curiosity. It was not the people of the extreme East who gave the flower-boats their poetical name, but the Europeans. The Chinese, much more prosaic in the things of this life, call these establishments simply houses of the four pleasures, designating them, according to their importance and dimensions, by the names of Keng-Heou, Cha-Kou, Tze-Toung, and Tuen-Pou. We will retain, however, the name by which they are commonly known among ourselves.
The flower-boats of the first size, consist of two storeys: namely, a basement, or, if the reader prefers it, a first landing, and an upper storey. But the second landing does not occupy the entire storey. You would call it rather a pavilion, raised above the centre of the establishment. The roof forms a terrace, which is usually furnished with tables and chairs. The basement is divided into a multitude of small apartments, decorated with rather free ​pictures, after the Chinese fashion, and each containing perhaps a table, a few chairs, and sometimes a bed. The upper storey serves as a cloak-room for the visitors of both sexes, and a store for the various articles consumed. This explains perfectly, by the way, the name given to these boats: Keng-Heou, which signifies compartments and storeys. Certain establishments of smaller dimensions, such—for instance, as those called Cha-Kou—have something in common with the French cafés-chantants; for they contain a large public room and a few private chambers.
The flower-boats are the great ornament of the floating city of Canton. Externally, they are decorated with unheard-of luxury; the entrance is covered with carving; the lateral parts, composed, so to say, of open work, are sculptured with an art of which the beautiful Chinese ivory fans can alone convey an idea. The main body of the boat is red, blue, or green, all the raised parts being carefully gilt. In front, four lanterns, brilliantly painted, are hung on masts, and, at the back, four lozenge-shaped streamers wave their joyous colours. The terraces, vestibules, and staircases, are decorated with large china vases, in which great bunches of flowers are constantly kept. It was certainly this display of splendour which originated the name which these boats now bear in all the languages of Europe. On only one occasion did I ever see a ​woman in a flower-boat during the day; it occurred as I was going up the stream which leads to Pan-se-Chen's villa. The "house of pleasure" in question was proceeding to the residence of some mandarin, and was towed by two tankas. The canal we were on was so narrow that the two vessels struck each other in passing. The slight shock resulting from this little collision, created a commotion among the passengers of the Tze-Toung, and one of them appeared at a port-hole of the elegant craft. She was a woman of about twenty, rather fat for a Chinese, and well daubed with white and rose, like a water-colour painting. Her cham, which had very wide sleeves, exposed to view a plump arm. She wore handsome gold bracelets, or, at least, perfectly gilt ones. Her gown was of a clear yellow, and embroidered with floss silk; in a word, she was armed from head to foot, ready to lead a formidable attack on the heart of some rich poussah. On perceiving herself in the presence of four Europeans, our fair sinner did not appear the least troubled, but made a little gesture with her hand, which far from indicated that she was very greatly prejudiced against the foreign devils.
The flower-boats compose several streets in the floating city, which streets constitute the most elegant quarter in it. They are naturally the parts most frequented by idlers and pleasure-seekers; but Europeans generally purchase, at the price of ​some outrage or another, the satisfaction of going over them, either by night or by day. There is usually at the entrance of these handsome edifices, a crowd of blackguards, who, when they observe a foreigner, pursue him with their cries. Generally, when the presence of a man of white race is signalled, these horrible, dirty, ragged, and hideous vagrants greet him with cries of fan-houaï! then, seizing their greasy queues with their left hands, they make signs to him that he will have his head cut off, if he approaches the seraglio. Such are the dragons who keep guard at the door of the paradise of Chinese pleasure, not the European, pursued by their clamour, can console himself with the reflection that those who would debar him from entering do not themselves touch the forbidden fruit. I always made a point of not provoking these manifestations when proceeding through this part of the city, in the mandarin-boat which Pan-se-Chen had placed at the disposal of Callery and myself.
The various nautical constructions I have now described, constitute the greater portion of the floating town; but, as in all grand centres of civilisation, the poor streets are most numerous. These handsome edifices and miserable craft are not, however, the only floating machines borne on the Tchou-kiang. You perceive, at certain distances, groups of craft, of uniform construction, moored ​one to the other, representing the large squares in our cities on land. These are official vessels, clusters of shops, or armed barks. Among the first, you readily distinguish the boats belonging to the police, the customs, and the gabel. The police-boats are recognisable by a row of rattan shields which surround their sides. The reader will easily understand that, among this compact mass of human beings, there must be some to represent public order. There is no example of civilisation in the world which does not possess its armed force. These floating posts, filled with subordinate agents of the authorities, are, in the middle of the Tchou-kiang, what the guard-houses and the offices of the sergens-de-ville are in Paris; but the functionaries charged with protecting the maritime population of Canton have far less to occupy them than their colleagues in Europe. But as regards the custom-house officers, their intervention is required every instant by the junks arriving from all points of the empire. Their boats, which are continually ploughing the stream, are delicate and slim, and only inferior in speed to those of their rivals, the smugglers, who do not fear to anchor, so to say, in these waters. The grand convoys of salt, which come from the centres of production, consist of vessels of the same form, but of very light tonnage; they are called by the Chinese si-le-pen. ​The salt is thrown into the bottom of the hold, covered only with large reed mats to protect it against the moisture. One frequently saw in the river long ranks of these transports tied together; reminding one of the convoys of corn which used formerly to navigate the Rhone. In the midst of this strange assembly, there is one group of boats which especially attracts attention by its noisy commotion: it is the one where the duck dealers abound. The keepers sit indolently in their barks, leaving their amphibious charges in perfect freedom. The latter enjoy themselves to their hearts' content—quacking, paddling about, diving and sporting in the stream, in the society of their companions; but, at the first summons from their master, each company returns, in all haste, to the floating park which serves as its home.
Several inoffensive forts line the banks of the Tchou-kiang, and, in the bed of the river itself, two fortified moles have been constructed, known to Europeans by the names of the Dutch Folly and the French Folly, in remembrance of what I cannot say. To each of these fortlets are moored armed barks, intended to hold in check enemies from without and rebels from within, should there happen to be any; but it is exceedingly doubtful, whether the cannons which project from their portholes are capable of doing their duty; this old artillery bids fair to rust on the decks of the Ping-chou without ​ever being fired, and in all probability the vessels themselves will rot in the river without ever putting out to sea.
Before concluding this enumeration—already long, though very much abridged—of the structures forming an integral part of the city of boats, I must speak of the European craft and junks which are seen at anchor in the Tchou-kiang. The European flotilla is generally moored in the middle of the stream, opposite the factories, and in the deepest part of the river. It consists of ships of small tonnage, belonging to English, American, and Portuguese merchants, resident at Macao or Hongkong, and which frequently make the voyage from Canton to the two Christian towns. You perceive, likewise, in the midst of these examples of nautical art in the West, Macao lorchas, employed in a kind of coasting trade, and a few little boats which connect, so to say, the factories with the fine roads of Whampoa, which I have previously designated a branch of the port of Canton.
As for the large junks, which are freighted with the productions of the entire empire, they are stationed high up the river; you may frequently see several hundred at one and the same point. Such a collection of strange vessels is not the least curious sight which the Tchou-kiang offers. They are large floating masses, with little grace about them, shaped nearly after the fashion of old Dutch ships. They ​are painted of various colours and adorned with glaring streamers, and having in front two large, haggard eyes—symbols of vigilance—drawn in a fantastic manner. To the Chinese, a ship is, in some degree, an animated body, and to deprive it of the organs of of sight would be to expose it wantonly to the risk of being dashed to pieces against the rocks. These large vessels riding at anchor, with their great goggle eyes and their straggling streamers, resemble so many amphibious animals, thrown up high and dry on the beach. A Chinaman can distinguish at the first glance whence the modern Noah's arks come; he recognises those which bring rice and sugar from the Fo-kien, or teas and silks from Nankin, or cinnamon from the Kuang-si; and the san-chou from the inland provinces.
No city in Europe can give an idea of the movement and life which reign in the streets of Canton. The streets of Canton alone can convey an idea of the feverish activity which reigns on the Tchou-kiang. In the midst of this prodigious passing and repassing, of goods in the course of being shipped and unshipped, of faï-tings, of lorchas, of junks, of vessels coming to anchor or setting sail, of mandarins cruising about in their rich craft, and of tradesmen proceeding to business, the itinerant cooks enumerate their ragouts; the manufacturers of tao-fou praise their toothsome production; the barbers offer their services; the brokers propose ​an exchange or purchase; in a word, all the professions contributing to the pleasures and the wants of a great concourse of men, are here in boats, pushing, jostling, elbowing one another: it is, as it were, a regatta of petty commerce and trade! And yet from this struggle at one point, from so many different interests and from so many rivalries, no disorder, no dispute, no quarrel ever arises! The politeness so extolled by the philosophers of the Celestial Empire, has rendered the people the gentlest, and most obliging nation in the universe. The Chinese assist and never attempt to injure each other.
The population which is born, which lives, and which dies upon the river, is not so illiterate as might be imagined. All professions are represented on the Tchou-kiang, even that of the schoolmaster! It is no rare thing to meet tanka-girls who can read and write. I first heard this fact asserted by my friend Rondot, whose assertion, however, was not successful in convincing me. But some days afterwards, our worthy commercial delegate came to my lodgings, accompanied by his confidential agent, old A-Tchoun, a great Chinese original, whose profile I should certainly sketch, if I had time to tell everything. The old interpreter held in his hand a small pamphlet, one of those Chinese books which would put to the blush for cheapness our novels at four sous. He saluted me respectfully, and said in Portuguese:—
​"You will not believe, Sir, so my master has assured me, that certain tanka-girls can read. I want to prove this to you, and we will go for that purpose to the boat of A-Moun."
When we had cast off and put out into the stream, A-Tchoun handed his book to the tanka-girl, who took it, read the title, and then returned it. This experiment was not quite decisive for me. A-Moun might have said to her compatriot:—"Good day," or, "How are you?" I immediately made a second experiment. I handed our pretty boat-girl a charming stone seal, given me, as a friendly memento, by my excellent friend, Dr. Macgowan, the medical missionary. The young girl scarcely glanced at it, and exclaimed:—
"Y-Van!"
Chinese is better adapted for punning than any other language; the engraved characters represented the consonance of my name, and indicated my profession, accompanied by an epithet my modesty forbids me from repeating. The young creature added, with a smile:—
"If I am ill, you will attend me, will you not?"
This little incident caused me extreme surprise, and inspired me with an exceedingly tender feeling for the learned boat-girl.
"What!" I exclaimed, addressing old A-Tchoun; "what! do not your big, stupid ​mandarins prefer a fine girl like A-Moun—industrious, intelligent, and educated—to their painted, hobbling dolls?"
"How can you think of such a thing?" exclaimed the old Chinaman, with a gesture of dismay. "Were such a thing to happen, it would be the overthrow of the laws of the Empire! A-Moun belongs to a reprobate class. The tanka-girls are very lucky that their mothers sometimes give birth to boys; but for that, no one would marry them. Oh! if you only knew how such people marry!"
"Come—let us hear. How do such people marry?" I inquired, indignant at A-Tchoun's prejudice.
"Like beasts! like beasts!" answered the old linguist. "Without any previous proposal; without a woman as go-between; without anything which is practised among well-educated persons. In harvest-time, any man of their class who wishes to marry, goes into the next field and gathers a little sheaf of rice, which he fastens to one of his oars. Then, when he is in the presence of the tanka-girl of his choice, he puts his oar into the water, and goes several times round the boat belonging to the object of his affections. The next day, if the latter accept his homage, she, in her turn, fastens a bunch of flowers to her oar, and comes rowing about near her betrothed. The relations then assemble in the young girl's bark. ​Some barbarous songs are sung, and the marriage is consecrated!"
"Come, come!" I exclaimed, turning towards Rondot, "just make a little sure, as you speak English-Chinese perfectly, whether the old mystifier is not laughing at us, with his poetic marriages."
My friend questioned the beautiful A-Moun, who replied mournfully:—
"When any one contracts a marriage, it is necessary to make certain conditions. The sheaf of rice signifies that the young man undertakes to toil laboriously to maintain her he loves. The girl replies, by the bunch of flowers, that she will give him happiness in exchange!"
"Oh! A-Moun!" I exclaimed, on hearing this explanation; "if I had two oars and a little skiff, I would go and gather a sheaf of rice, and come and row round your boat!"
My exclamation did not compromise me in the opinion of old A-Tchoun, for I had uttered it in French. A-Moun did not understand it any more than he did, and the declaration, that meant nothing, was lost in the noise of the oars which beat the Tchou-kiang.
I continued, however, sadly:—
"How monotonous you must find this life upon the river, my poor girl! With your education and ​tastes, it strikes me that a little house on shore, adjoining a little garden, and a few friends, would suit you much better."
"Why?" said the young creature. "Do we not possess here everything which can content us? Have not all the ages of life their pleasures on the bed of the Tchou-kiang as well as on shore? In our boats, the child receives all the care his weakness requires; the young man exercises his profession in peace, and the old man, also, finds the diversion and repose his age demands. We shall inhabit the land only too soon!" added the beautiful tanka-girl, with a sigh. "When we are dead, it is there that our habitation is, and our bodies repose there for ever. After all, we inhabit the earth a much longer time than the water!"
Thus, those nations of India, who live far from rivers, come and throw their dead into the Ganges to purify them, while the denizens of the aquatic domains of the Tchou-kiang dig a hole in the ground for theirs, to secure them a peaceful sleep during eternity!
A great deal has been said lately about the population of the floating city of the Tchou-kiang. Men, in general, find a very great pleasure in disputing with and contradicting each other; polemics are a necessity of their nature. In China, subjects of conversation are rare among Europeans. ​Consequently, everything affords matter for controversy, and I have been present at interminable polemic contests concerning the number of the floating population of the Tchou-kiang. Some made this population mount up to a fabulous number; others, on the contrary, asserted it did not surpass that of our third-class towns. Those who maintained this last opinion, were, generally speaking, strong-minded personages, avowed opponents of the Jesuit fathers, and of all the works the latter have produced, no matter whether the books were mystical or scientific. Now, the learned propagandists having, in their works, extolled the manners, government, and size of Chinese cities, their antagonists consider it a philosophical duty to deny, without investigation, everything thus advanced. I confess I never took a part in these warm discussions, reserving the right of setting myself up, for myself, as the judge of the debate. In questions of this kind, I have a peculiar method of arriving at a knowledge of the truth: I simply consult public opinion, especially that of the vulgar. Therefore, addressing A-Moun, I said to her:—
"You are a learned person; could you inform me what is the number of the inhabitants of the floating city?"
At this question the beautiful boat-girl burst out into a loud fit of laughter, and her hand let go one ​of the oars; then, seizing a stone jug at her feet, she dipped it in the stream, and, taking it out again, said to me:
"Could you tell me how many drops of water there are in this vase?"
I laughed, in my turn, at her answer. Looking towards old A-Tchoun, I put the same question to him. He mumbled, for a few seconds, some words between his teeth, and at last said:
"There may be six hundred thousand souls!"
It was evident the old linguist knew no better than the boat-girl, but, in his character of a learned official, he wished it to appear that he did. I then applied to my habitual resource, to that particularly amiable and obliging man, Pan-se-Chen, who said with his usual good sense:
"We have not got an official return of the population of the Tchou-kiang; but we know, on sure authority and by an exact return, that the river accommodates more than eighty thousand boats, large and small. Now, admitting that, one with the other, each of these craft contains four inhabitants, which is very moderate, we obtain the enormous total of three hundred and twenty thousand, which does not strike me as exaggerated."
This total is precisely that given by Morrison; by the authors of the Chinese Repository; by the Catholic missionaries; and, in a word, by all those ​who have been long acquainted with China. After what has been already said, I leave the reader to choose between this opinion and that which gives the Tchou-kiang a population not exceeding a hundred and sixty thousand souls.