Part 1 (1/2)
Sidelights on Chinese Life.
by J. Macgowan.
CHAPTER I
THE CHINAMAN
The Chinaman a puzzle--Oblique methods--Instances given--Mind turbid--Shrewd--A bundle of contradictions--No love of truth in the abstract--Hypnotizing power of the Chinese, in business, in foreign official life--Full of human nature--Inability to be thorough.
The Chinaman's mind is a profound and inexplicable puzzle that many have vainly endeavoured to solve. He is a mystery not simply to the foreigner, who has been trained to more open methods of thought, but also to his own countrymen, who are frequently heard to express their astonishment at some exhibition of character, that has never occurred to them during the whole of their oblique life. A Chinese cook who was living in an English family, and who found life so intolerable through some petty devices and schemes of his fellow-servants that he was compelled to resign his situation, was so taken aback at the ingenuity and skill of the manoeuvres that had been employed to oust him from his employment that, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes and a face flushed with excitement, he said, ”I know the Englishman well, I can accurately gauge his mind, and I can tell exactly how he will usually act; but my own countrymen are a mystery to me that I do not profess to be able to comprehend.”
This of course was an exaggeration, as there must have been a great deal in his own people that he must have been quite familiar with. He merely meant that there were depths in the Celestial mind that even he had never yet fathomed. Any one who has ever studied the Chinese character must have come to the conclusion that the instincts and aims of the people of the Chinese Empire are distinctly the reverse of those that exist in the minds of the men of the West. An Englishman, for example, prides himself upon being straightforward and of saying exactly what he believes. A Chinaman would never dream of taking that position, simply because it is one that he does not understand, and consequently he could never carry out. A straight line is something that his mind recoils from, and when he desires to effect some purpose that he has before him, he prefers an oblique and winding path by which in a more roundabout manner he hopes to attain his end.
It may be laid down as a general and axiomatic truth, that it is impossible from hearing what a Chinaman says to be quite certain of what he actually means. The reason for this no doubt arises from the fact that a speaker hardly ever in the first instance touches upon the subject that he has in his mind, but he will dwell upon two or three others that he believes have an intimate relation with it, and he concludes that this subtle line of thought ought to lead the hearer to infer what he has all the time been driving at. One of my servants, for example, had a grievance against another also in my employ. He did not dare to complain of him to me, for he belonged to a powerful clan bordering on his own in the interior, and if anything unpleasant had happened to this particular member through any accusation that might be laid against him, they would have wreaked their vengeance not only upon the man who had troubled him, but also upon the members of the weaker clan who were connected with him.
The direct method that would have been pursued by a foreigner without any regard to consequence, because he has no dread of hostile clans, and because he has the law to protect him in case of need, evidently cannot be adopted by the aggrieved person here, and so he naturally adopts the method that he believes will secure him a redress of his wrongs without any danger to himself or his clan.
He accordingly appears one morning with that blank expressionless visage with which a Chinaman can conceal his thoughts, and asks permission to return to his home in the country. He had just got news, he says, that a brother of his has suddenly become very ill and is not expected to live, and urgent entreaties have been sent him to come home as speedily as he can. You are rather startled at this sudden demand to be left at a moment's notice without a servant who is necessary to carry on the work of the home; and besides, you have the uncomfortable feeling that this may be one of those obscure but oblique ways by which the Yellow mind is working to secure some end that lies concealed within its fathomless recesses.
You ask particulars, but he has none to give. He simply waves before you a letter covered with strange and weird hieroglyphics, and hands it to you for inspection, though he is aware that you can no more decipher it than you could the wedge-shaped symbols of the a.s.syrian language, and he declares that he knows no more about the illness of his brother than what is contained in it. As you cannot read the letter, and moreover you would get no light from it even if you could, you look him straight in the face to see if you cannot discover some little ray of light on this perplexing question; but no, it is just as impenetrable as the doc.u.ment he holds in his hands as evidence of the bad news he has received from his home. It is perfectly sphinx-like, and gives no clue to the thoughts that lie behind it. The eyes are liquid and childlike, and just that touch of sadness that harmonizes with his sorrowful feelings has laid its lightest shadow over his features, and you begin to feel that you have been doing the man an injustice by doubting him.
You have gone through similar processes before, however, and the memory of them inspires you with caution, so you tell him to go away and you will think over the matter. You call another of the servants whom you know to be on good terms with the other, and you ask him if he has heard of the distressing news that has come to his friend. A flash of surprise like a streak of lightning out of a clear sky shoots across his face, which he instantly suppresses, however, and with a calm and unruffled look he says, ”I have not heard that any letter has come, but there may have been one. I have been busy, you know, doing my work, and so have not been told.”
This is decidedly suspicious, for if there is one thing that a Chinaman cannot do it is to keep a secret. After a little further conversation with this man he remarks in a very casual off-hand way--
”I have heard that so-and-so had a brother; it is very strange, and I cannot quite understand this business,” and after one or two miscellaneous remarks he suddenly looks round, goes to the door, and peers up and down the hall, to a.s.sure himself that there is no one looking about. He then walks on tiptoe to the open window, and gives a rapid glance amongst the flowers and shrubs in the garden to see that none of his fellow-servants are there to catch s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation, and, still treading like a cat that scents a rat, he comes up close to you, and whispering in your ear he utters just one word, ”Examine,” and then with a face full of mystery and with the same cat-like motion he vanishes out of the door with a face covered with smiles, and you feel that you are now on a fair way to find out the secret of the hieroglyphic letter and the alarming sickness of the brother.
You ”examine” the matter, and you find that the man never had a brother, that the letter was written by a clansman next door, and that the whole plot was devised to get you to rectify wrongs without arousing in the offender a suspicion that he had been informed against. There is consequently no feud and no vendetta, and after a few strong and forceful words as to what may happen if people do not behave themselves, the household returns to its normal state of order and quietness.
In order thoroughly to understand and appreciate the Chinaman, a man must be possessed of large powers of inference, for it is almost certain that what lies apparent in his conduct is not the real thing that he has in view.
One day a Chinaman walked into my study in the free and easy way with which people enter each other's houses in this land, with a basket of eggs in his hand. He was a complete stranger to me, but he talked as glibly to me as though he had been well acquainted with me. He told me that he had brought me a present, that the eggs had been laid by his own fowls, and that though they were too small a present to be accepted by one so much higher than he was, he hoped that I should still condescend to take them from him. ”But I do not know who you are, and moreover I do not see why you should make me any present at all.” ”Oh, I merely wished to do myself the honour of meeting with you, for I have heard others speak with great respect of you, and my wife and I thought that a few eggs from my own farm, though not worthy of your acceptance, would be a little token of the respect in which we hold you.”
In spite of all his professions of devotion and esteem for myself, I felt convinced that he had some favour to ask of me; but, true to the peculiarity of the Chinese mind, he kept it at first in the background, and after talking with him for about an hour, and after I had hinted that I had an engagement that would compel me to leave him, he began to stammer out that he was in great trouble with some persons in his village, and as he knew that I had great influence, he had come to me to help him out of his difficulty. The secret was now out, and the basket of eggs and the hour's conversation about everything in the world, except the one subject that he had come miles to discuss with me, were but oblique methods of leading up to the one important thought that was filling his mind.
The Chinese as a rule are a highly shrewd and thoughtful people. They are keen observers of human life as well as of the natural world that lies around them. It is very striking to notice with what intelligence the uneducated countryman, who has never had any education, and whose life has been spent in labours that never call forth any effort of the imagination, will describe the leaves of the different kinds of trees, the habits and lives of a great variety of birds in the region around, and the peculiarities of insect life which they have never studied scientifically, but simply with that keen power of observation which the Chinese seem intuitively to possess.
In spite of all this it is quite safe to say that the Chinese mind is wanting in lucidity, and in the ability of grasping an idea with the same readiness that a Westerner does. This is specially the case with the uneducated, and therefore with the great ma.s.s of people. You tell a coolie, for example, to take a letter to the post-office. He has gone there perhaps a dozen times before. He stands and gazes at you with a perplexed look, as though you had told him to go to New Zealand. Knowing this peculiarity of the Chinese mind, you repeat your order, and you ask him if he knows where the post-office is? The blank look becomes more confirmed, and he says, ”I'll inquire of some one where it is.” As you feel anxious about your letter, you say, ”Now tell me what I have asked you to do.” ”Asked me to do?” he exclaims, and the dense look deepens on his face. ”Yes, I have asked you to take this letter to the post-office, the place where you have often gone before. Do you know where it is?”
”I'll inquire,” he says briskly, as though it was just beginning to dawn upon him that he had some idea where the post-office was. He moves away, and you have doubts in your mind whether your letter may not go astray and never be posted, when the coolie returns with hasty steps and with an anxious look on his yellow face, and inquires of you, ”Did you say that I was to take this letter to the post-office?” ”I did, and I hope you understand now where it is.” ”I'll inquire,” he says, and vanishes.
This singular feature in an otherwise intelligent mind is a continual source of irritation to a foreigner, who has never had any experience of such turbidity of thought in matters that seem to him to require no exertion to grasp at once. You say to a man, for example, more for the purpose perhaps of having something to say than anything else, ”How old are you?” A blank look of amazement comes over his countenance, much as though you had asked him if he had committed murder. ”Do you mean me?” he asks. ”Yes, I mean you; how old are you?” ”How old am I?” and now the idea seems to have filtered into his brain, and the vacant, dazed look is replaced by a slight smile that ripples over his face, and he tells you his age. It is no exaggeration to say that all over this great empire, wherever the above questions have been put, the same comedy has invariably been gone through in getting a reply to them.
This haziness of thought is especially annoying to the medical men who are in charge of general hospitals, where all cla.s.ses of people come for treatment. One day a woman came to one of these to consult the foreign physician about her health. She was tall and severe-looking, with a face that forbade any attempt to trifle with her. She was evidently a person that never indulged in a joke, for the lines on her countenance were hard as though they had never been relaxed by any of the pleasantries or humours of life. You could fancy her being a hard-working, industrious housewife, but one that neither husband nor children would ever approach excepting with a certain diffidence and restraint.
Coming to her turn to be treated, the doctor said to her, ”What is your name?” This question always seems to paralyze a Chinaman, so that he never answers it at once. The woman's face was at once convulsed with amazement, and her eyes became staring as she gazed intently on the doctor. ”You mean me?” she asked with every line livid with emotion. ”Yes, I mean you,” he said; ”what is your name?” ”You mean my name?” she cried, and she struck her breast with her open hand to make sure that she was the person he meant. ”Yes, I mean you; so answer me quickly, as I have no time to waste.” ”I have no name,” she answered, with a pathos that seemed to tremble through her voice. ”No name!” he said. ”What do you mean? You must have a name, everybody has some name or other.” ”I have no name,” she answered deliberately, whilst she slowly shook her head as if to give emphasis to her statement. ”May I ask,” said the doctor, with a smiling face, ”what people generally call you?” ”They do not call me anything, for I have no name,” she protested. ”Well, when you were a girl what did your mother call you?” ”She called me 'Pearl,'” she said, and now a flash of sunlight came into her face, as no doubt a vision of by-gone days rose before her. ”Very well,” said the doctor, ”I shall put your name down as 'Pearl' in my register,” though if he had only persevered a little longer he would no doubt have got the one by which she was commonly known amongst her neighbours.
One of the reasons that has led the foreigner to entertain the idea that the Chinaman is incomprehensible arises from the fact that he seems to be an absolute bundle of contradictions. It is the existence of totally diverse qualities in the same person that has made one feel that after an intimate knowledge of him for many years there are still surprises in his character that show the complex nature of his being, and the difficulty of predicting what he will do in the future under any circ.u.mstances. He would be a daring man indeed that would take upon himself the _role_ of prophet about any individual, no matter how well he might be acquainted with him.
[Ill.u.s.tration: CHINESE EATING RICE AND DRINKING SAMSHU (WHISKY).
_To face p. 9._]