Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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and an ironical smile on his lips, he seemed to approve those complimenting no more than he did the one complimented.
The latter then rose, placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and, in a voice that seemed less calm than usual, asked,—
“Am I, then, too old to marry?”
“No.”
“Too young?”
“No: neither too young nor too old.”
“Do you think I am doing wrong?”
“Perhaps so.”
“But she whom I have chosen, and with whom you are acquainted, possesses every quality necessary to make me happy.”
“I know it.”
“Well?”
“It is you who have not all that is necessary to make you so. To be bored single in life is bad, but to be bored double is worse.”
“Then I shall never be happy?”
“No: not so long as you do not know what misfortune is.”
“Misfortune cannot reach me.”
“So much the worse; for then you are incurable.”
“Ah! these philosophers!” cried the youngest of the guests. “One should not listen to them. They are machines with theories. They manufacture all kinds of theories, which are trash, and good for nothing in practice. Get married,—get married, my friend! I should do the same, had I not made a vow never to do any thing. Get married; and, as our poets say, may the two phoenixes always appear to you tenderly united! Friends, I drink to the happiness of our host.”
“And I,” responded the philosopher, “drink to the near interposition of some protecting divinity, who, in order to make him happy, will cause him to pass through the trial of misfortune.”
At this odd toast the guests arose, brought their fists together as boxers do before beginning a contest, and, having alternately lowered and raised them while bowing their heads, took leave of each other.
From the description of the saloon in which this entertainment was given, and the foreign menu which composed it, as well as from the dress of the guests, with their manner of expressing themselves,—perhaps, too, from the singularity of their theories,—the reader has surmised that we have had to do with the Chinese; not with those “Celestials” who look as if they had been unglued from a Chinese screen, or had escaped from a pottery vase where they properly belonged, but with the modern inhabitants of the Celestial Empire, already Europeanized by their studies, voyages, and frequent communication with the civilized people of the West.
Indeed, it was in the saloon of one of the flower-boats on the River of Pearls at Canton that the rich Kin-Fo, accompanied by the inseparable Wang the philosopher, had just entertained four of the best friends of his youth,—Pao-Shen, a mandarin of the fourth class, and of the order of the blue button; Yin-Pang, a rich silk-merchant in Apothecary Street; Tim, the high liver; and Houal, the literary man.
And this took place on the twenty-seventh day of the fourth moon, during the first of those five periods which so poetically divide the hours of the Chinese night.
1 Translator’s Note.—An Italian dish, a compound of vermicelli, eggs, cheese, and green herbs, prepared in the form of fritters.
CHAPTER II.
In Which Kin-Fo And The Philosopher Are More Fully Described.
The reason why Kin-Fo gave a farewell dinner to his Canton friends was because he passed a part of his youth in the capital of the province of Kuang-Tung. Of the numerous comrades a wealthy and generous young man is sure to have, the only ones left him at this time were the four guests who were present on the flower-boat. It would have been useless for him to have tried to bring the others together, as they were scattered by the various accidents of life.
Kin-Fo lived in Shanghai, and, being worn out with ennui, was now for a change spending a few days in Canton. This evening he intended to take the steamboat which stops at several points along the coast, and return quietly home to his yamen.
The reason that Wang accompanied Kin-Fo was because the philosopher could never leave his pupil, who did not want for lessons; though, to tell the truth, he paid no heed to them, and they were just so many maxims and wise sayings lost. The “theory-machine,” however, as Tim the high liver called him, was never weary of producing them.
Kin-Fo was a perfect type of the northern Chinese, whose race is being transformed, and who have never united with the Tartars. He was of a stamp differing from that usually found in the southern provinces, where the high and low classes are more intimately blended with the Mandshurian race: he had not a drop of Tartar blood in his veins, neither from father nor mother, whose ancestors kept secluded after the conquest.
He was tall, well built, fair rather than yellow; with straight eyebrows, and eyes following the horizontal, and but slightly raised towards the temple; with a straight nose, and a face that was not flat. He would have been distinguished even among the finest specimens of Western people.
Indeed, if Kin-Fo appeared at all like a Chinaman, it was because of his carefully shaved skull; his smooth, hairless brow and neck; and his magnificent braid, which started at the back of his head, and rolled down like a serpent of jet. He was very careful about his person, and wore a delicate mustache, which made a half-circle over his upper lip; and an imperial, which was exactly like a rest in musical notation. His nails were more than a centimetre long, a proof that he belonged to those fortunate men who are not obliged to work. Perhaps, too, his careless walk and haughty bearing added still more to the comme il faut appearance of his whole person.
Besides, Kin-Fo was born at Pekin, an advantage of which the Chinese are very proud. To any one who would have asked him where he came from, he would have answered proudly, “I come from above.”
His father, Tchoung-Heou, was living at Pekin when he was born; and he was six years old when the former settled at Shang-hai.
This worthy Chinaman, who came from a fine family in the northern part of the empire, like all his compatriots, had a remarkable capacity for business. During the first years of his career, he bartered and sold every thing that the rich and populous territory produces; such as paper goods from Swatow, silks from Soo-Choo, sugar-candy from Formosa, tea from Han-kow and Fou-chow, iron from Ho-nan, and red and yellow copper from the province of Yunnan. His principal business-house, his “hong,” was at Shang-hai; but he had branch establishments at Nankin, Tien-Sing, Macao, and Hong-Kong. As he was a close follower of European progress, he shipped his goods on English steamers, and kept himself informed by cablegram of the state of the silk and opium market at Lyons and Calcutta. He was not opposed to these agents of progress, steam and electricity, as are the majority of the Chinese, who are under the influence of mandarins and the government, whose prestige is gradually being lessened by progress.
In short, Tchoung-Heou managed so shrewdly in his business in the interior of the empire, as well as in his transactions with Portuguese, French, English, or American houses, in Shanghai, Macao, and Hong-Kong, that, when Kin-Fo came into the world, his fortune exceeded four hundred thousand dollars; and, during the years that followed, this capital was doubled, on account of the establishment of a new traffic, which might be called the “coolie trade of the New World.”
It is well known that the population of China is in excess, and out of all proportion to the vast extent of the territory, which is poetically divided into the various names of Celestial Empire, Central Empire, and Empire or Land of Flowers.
Its inhabitants are estimated