A Childhood in China, 1860s
"My earliest recollections are of a sitting-room on the ground floor of my grandsire’s house, the right wing of which was assigned to my father at the time of his…
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From When I Was a Boy in China by Yan Phou Lee, 1887.
On a certain day in the year 1861, I was born.
I cannot give you the exact date, because the Chinese year is different from the English year, and our months being lunar, that is, reckoned by the revolution of the moon around the earth, are consequently shorter than yours. We reckon time from the accessions of Emperors, and also by cycles of sixty years each. The year of my birth, 1861, was the first year of the Emperor Tung-che. We have twelve months ordinarily; and we say, instead of “January, February,” etc., “ Regular Moon, Second Moon, Third Moon,” etc. Each third year is a leap year, and has an extra month so as to make each of the lunar years equal to a solar year.
Accordingly, taking the English calendar as a standard, our New Year’s Day varies. Therefore, although I am sure that I was born on the twenty-first day of the Second Moon, in Chinese, I don’t know my exact birthday in English; and consequently, living in America as I have for many years, I have been cheated of my birthday celebration.
Being born a boy, there was a deal of rejoicing in the family, and among numerous relatives. If I had happened to be a girl, it would have been very different; the reason for which I will tell in a chapter on “Girls of my Acquaintance.” My aged grandfather smiled with satisfaction when the news reached him in Fungshun, three hundred miles away to the East, where he was holding office as Literary Sub-Chancellor. Congratulations poured in in the shape of presents of rich cloths, jewelry and pigs’ feet. These gifts came a month after my birth, which day is always celebrated as a christening-day is in England. On that day, which we call the “Completion of the Moon,” my name was given to me. I started with the surname “Lee” which my family and clan possess in common; and to that “Yan Phou,” which signifies “Wealth by Imperial Favor,” was added — Lee Yan Phou. But I now arrange my name in accordance with American custom.
The names given on those occasions are not like your “Jack,” “Harry,” or “Dick,” but are usually words chosen “from the dictionary” for their lucky import, or because they are supposed to possess the power of warding off evil influences in the child’s horoscope. You should know that in China a baby’s fortune is told almost as soon as he is born, the events of his life being foretold with surprising particularity.
In order to ward off malignant influences from the future of their child, rich people often spend great sums of money. To some deities, especially to the God of Longevity, vows are made, and promises of presents annually, if the god will protect baby and bring him through certain crises in his life; and thus, willing or unwilling, the idol is supposed bound to be the child’s tutelary guardian.
Also blind fortune-tellers are paid to intercede for the infant with their particular idol. If you were living in China, you would notice the strings of amulets which youngsters wear. They are some- times made of gold and silver; but often these necklaces are composed of mere scraps of paper with talismanic characters penned by priests; they are supposed to be efficacious in scaring away evil spirits. The priests, fortune-tellers, lessees of temples, clairvoyants, and astrologers drive a flourishing trade in these mysterious wares. For these charms, and the friendliness of the idols being a matter of life or death, of future happiness or misery to the beloved child, of course the poor are just as eager to spend money in this way as the rich, and through baby’s life they continue to pay annual instalments of money for these things.
On my christening-day friends came to see me and to congratulate my family, and a feast was made in my honor. When the guests departed they carried each a slice of roast pork as a return-gift. Roast pig is the national festal dish in China, as you will learn. No occasion is complete without it, whether it be a religious festival, the worship of ancestors, a wedding, or a birthday celebration. One feature of my christening feast was that my mother was permitted to have all she wanted of pigs’ feet and ginger pickled together. It is believed that baby’s food will be more abundant if the mother eat plentifully of this delicacy.
From what I have since observed I suppose that as it was the winter season I was wrapped in “swaddling clothes;” and I think the layers of garments would have caused the death of any ordinary American baby. First came much underwear of cotton cloth; then a jacket; then another jacket; then a gown padded with cotton; then still another quilted coat of bright calico; and over all a bib. I wore a cap too, but no shoes until I was able to walk. My hair was shaved off except a small tuft, which was the beginning, the embryo, you may say, of the queue of the future.
Speaking of the winter season: The climate in the city of my nativity is like that of Canton which lies seventy-five miles to the north. Although no snow falls, and although ice is an unknown quantity there, yet the weather is sufficiently chilly to make a fire desirable. But Chinese houses, strangely enough I now think, are built for summer, and to counteract heat rather than to keep off cold; and no such furniture as a heating stove is known, neither furnaces, nor steam-heaters. So for warmth we resort to thick clothing, and all sleeves are cut long with that end in view. A funny consequence is that old and young look twice as big in winter as in summer.
As a baby I had my playthings — bells, rattles and other knick-knacks. But there is no such blessed thing as a cradle among the Chinese in which baby may be soothed and rocked to sleep, neither the healthful, separate “crib.” I had to sleep with my mother; and I have not a doubt that I used to cry a deal because I felt too warm, for the bedclothes — which were plentiful and heavily padded — would sometimes cover me all up and make it difficult for me to breathe. I would be suffocated, smothered, and of course I would cry; and my mother would do everything except give me air and liberty; numberless were the medicines administered, for Chinese doctors pretend they can cure the crying of children at night. American mothers have no idea what impositions Chinese mothers suffer from physicians and sellers of charms, on account of their superstitious fears concerning the health and welfare of their children.
In the daytime I used to sit in a bamboo chair which had a board in front that slid back and forth and served both as a table to hold my playthings and a lock to keep me in my seat, for it came up to my waist, so it was not possible for me to leap out. In this stiff fixture I used to sit hours at a time and watch my mother spin flax.
Our tastes are too simple to contrive such luxuries as baby-carriages. We have instead our “carrying tie.” This consists of a piece of thick cloth, about two feet square, lined inside, and embroidered outside with beautiful figures, and having four bands sewed on, one at each corner. To put me into this cloth carriage, the one who was to carry me, my mother or a servant, would lean over; I was then laid on her back, the “carriage” thrown over me, and the upper bands tied around the bosom of the carrier, the lower ones around her waist. My legs, of course, dangled outside; but it was nevertheless a very comfortable seat for me, though I doubt if it were so pleasant for the one who lugged me about. The primary object of this contrivance was to get me to sleep, and many a fine nap I must have had in my “carriage.” If I per- sisted in keeping awake, my carrier would sing to me a lullaby which, being ordinary conversation put to music more or less tuneful, is hardly worth a translation.
My earliest recollections are of a sitting-room on the ground floor of my grandsire’s house, the right wing of which was assigned to my father at the time of his marriage. It was very long and narrow, with bare brick walls in which no windows opened upon the street; all the light and ventilation came through a long narrow opening in the roof. Rain came through too, as well as light and air, and had to be drained off.
The furniture of this room was simple; a bam- boo sofa, a square table, a few stiff-backed chairs, three long and narrow benches and a couple of stools. This ascetic simplicity in furnishings may be noticed everywhere in China; nowhere are even the rich inclined to indulge in luxury to any extent.
I remember very well the comfortless Chinese bed. Boards took the place of springs, and benches supported these boards. In ours, surmounting all was a heavy canopy frame, which, when new, was evidently gilded and carved. By this frame was suspended mosquito nettings, an absolutely necessary arrangement. The ground was our floor, overlaid with bricks a foot square as carpet. No chimney was to be seen anywhere, no heating apparatus, hardly any ornaments. In summer these rooms were cool and comfortable; but the winter’s wind and cold rendered them cheerless.
There is only one event of my infant life worthy of record, the death of my adopted father. He was my father’s brother and had accompanied my grandfather to the city of his literary administration. He was but a youth of twenty-one, unmarried and studying for the public examinations. On his deathbed, he designated me as his adopted son and heir. My grandfather ratified the choice, so that without my consent I was transferred from my father’s hands into my uncle’s.
This mode of adoption is common. Usually the adopted son belongs to the same family or clan, but not always; in any case he has the rights, privileges and duties of a born son. Among the rights may be mentioned the inheriting of property, and among the duties the annual offerings at the family altar and the grave, and the daily burning of remembrance incense.
Lee, Yan Phou. When I Was a Boy in China. D. Lothrop Company, 1887.
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