Part 11

A neighboring nation of ours, and one whose Indian possessions furnish prodigious quantities of opium, forced China, in a celebrated treaty, to allow the entrance of this opium into her ports and to pay for it in ingots and not in merchandise; the empire was thus obliged to disgorge a part of its money held in reserve. You will have an idea of the importance of this operation when you know that to-day there enters annually into China 70,000 packing cases of opium from India, worth at least $558,000. So much poison forced by right of war upon a whole people!

The Chinese smoke opium from the age of twenty to twenty-five years. The immediate effect is a sort of dizzy sensation. The preoccupations of the mind disappear, as do also all ailments of the body. Then comes a noisy delirium, a kind of insanity, in which the subject is deeply agitated; he is apt to hurl down and break everything around him. Sometimes he rushes out of the house, attacks the first passer-by, and not infrequently in his frenzy has committed murder.

The opium smoker, as well as the eater, is obliged rapidly to increase the dose of his poison. At the end of six or eight months he must smoke a dozen pipes a day. His money is soon all spent; he is ruined in a year. He sells all that he possesses, and then he gambles. Writers agree in saying that the maximum of the life of a smoker is then five or six years.

In the face of such an evil as this the imperial government has tried to act on the defensive; it placed a heavy duty on the entrance of opium; but this system was not successful. And before this attempt it tried penal jurisprudence.

This is the decree which the Viceroy of Canton published in 1841:

“It is two years since the Emperor of the Celestial Empire forbade all his subjects to smoke opium. This delay of grace expires the twelfth day of the twelfth moon of this year. Then all those guilty of offense against this law will be put to death, their heads will be exposed in public, in order to frighten those who might be tempted to follow their example.” (Then follows this modification.) “I have reflected, however, that solitary confinement would be more efficacious than capital punishment, in order to arrest such a dreadful misdemeanor. I declare then, that I am going to have built a special prison for opium smokers. There they will all, rich or poor, be shut in narrow cells, lighted by one window, with two boards serving as a bed and a seat. They will be given each day a ration of oil, of rice, and of vegetables. In case of a second offense they will be put to death.”

This legislation was not practicable. The punishment was out of proportion to the crime, and consequently inapplicable.

Besides, in looking around him the emperor found that his own wives smoked opium, and I would not guarantee that if he meant to live up to the letter of his law, he would not have to begin by committing suicide.

After this legislation they tried moralization and preaching. The misfortunes of the opium smoker were depicted in an infinite number of ways. All this propagandism had about as little success as societies against intemperance, and this state of affairs is existing to-day in the East.

There are not noticeably many opium eaters or smokers among the French. But every one knows that the people of the Orient have for their European brothers the morphine users. There is between the first and second the same difference that is found in everything pertaining to barbarous and to cultivated men. Civilization prescribes as to the manner of the poisoning.

While the Oriental eats or smokes simply the juice of the poppy almost as nature furnishes it, the European is more refined, and wishes only the active principles of opium. So he uses it prepared in such a way as to have lost almost entirely its disagreeable properties.

How does one become a morphine user when he is a Frenchman, an inhabitant of Paris, and when there is not a temptation to it from the fact of a general habit, or the existence of special establishments? This can be accounted for by two methods. The most common is some painful affliction from which one is suffering, it may be neuralgia, acute dyspepsia, or violent headaches. The physician, often at the end of his resources, prescribes injecting a little morphine under the skin. The effect is marvelous; the pain ceases instantly, but temporarily. The next day it returns with new force. The afflicted patient remembers the success of yesterday, and insists upon his anodyne. It seems necessary to give it, and so it goes on for several days. Soon the nature of the drug manifests itself: no longer will one injection a day answer; there must be two, then three, later four, and so on, always increasing, until it reaches formidable quantities. Meantime, the original trouble may have entirely disappeared, but the patient does not cease to use the remedy. The first time that the sick one insists upon having the treatment the doctor is called to perform the operation. But soon, as it becomes necessary to repeat the process oftener, making it expensive, it is entrusted to the nurse or to the family, and from that day the patient is lost; for how can the supplications of a suffering person whom one loves be resisted? Then on a day the sick one practices on himself—and from that on, without any control, with the avidity of passion, he uses the drug in the quantities of which I have told you.

This is one way in which many victims fall into this sad habit. There is another. The victims of the second method are those who seek in exciting tonics the sensations which their weakened nerves and their surfeited imagination can no longer afford them. These are the proselytes of a veritable association, and they, in their turn, soon become missionaries in the same cause. It is a habit which the vicious have of wishing to make others like themselves. The fable of the fox which had its tail cut off is not a fable of yesterday. Two friends meet; one of them complains of slight annoyances; dullness, _ennui_; he no longer enjoys anything; the world, the races, the theater, do not procure for him distraction; he is _bored to death_. His friend admits that he also has suffered in the same way, but that he had recourse to morphine, of which some one had told him, and that he found in it a perfect cure. And thus by such conversations there is formed, as it were, a new class; they are the volunteers in this unhappy army.

One can but remark, that luxury, which tends to introduce itself everywhere, has already invaded the domain of morphine. The little syringe of Pravas, which permits of the injection of the poison under the skin, and the consequent avoidance of the bitter taste and the nausea which would be occasioned by eating morphine, has received ingenious and artistic modifications. It was necessary to render it easy to carry, and at the same time to make it deceptive to the eye. I visited a surgical instrument maker at Paris, and he placed at my disposal for inspection his whole line of morphine instruments, those which the taste, the luxury, or the imagination of his clients had caused him to fabricate.

There was first the syringe, containing a centigram of morphine, such as the physicians employ. It was not delicate enough, was difficult to handle and difficult to conceal; it is used now only by those who no longer care to conceal their vice—who feel no shame in regard to it. Then there was one adroitly concealed in a match box. At one side was a little bottle containing a dose of powder necessary for a half day. There was, too, a false cigar holder, containing all that was necessary for injecting the poison. But most remarkable of all was a long, sheath-like instrument. It is somewhat inconvenient in the midst of company to put the morphine into the syringe before making a puncture. This sheath, filled beforehand, can be carried in the pocket; the puncture can be made, and to inject the drug it is only necessary to move the piston in a certain direction; in the evening the sheath will be found empty. There were little gold syringes contained in smelling bottles; a little silver sheath which one would take for an embroidery stiletto; open it; it contains an adorable little syringe of gold and a bottle of the poison.

Among morphine users in fashionable life they make gifts according to their taste, and there are manufactured syringes and bottles enameled, engraved, and emblematic—in every conceivable device.

Do men more often become subject to this vice than women? According to the printed statistics, yes. Out of every one hundred who used the drug there are counted only twenty-five women. But practicing physicians say that the women are the more numerous victims. They are more artful, and try to keep the habit concealed; they do not consult the physicians regarding it, and so are not counted in the statistical returns.

Is it then so very agreeable to live under the influence of this poison, since so many people expose themselves, for its sake, to such grave perils? To this I reply, no, not at the beginning. It is with this vice as with others, the beginning is hard. The first injections are not enjoyable—the puncture is painful, and sometimes nausea follows. But the habit is easily and quickly formed, and the disagreeable effects disappear. The introduction of the morphine produces almost immediately a sort of general vagueness, an annihilation of being which causes to disappear all external realities and replaces them by a sort of happy reverie; and at the same time the mind seems more alert, more active. Physical and moral grievances disappear, all troubles are forgotten for the time being. “You know,” says Mr. Ball, “the famous soliloquy of Hamlet, and the passage where the Prince cries out that without the fear of the unknown, no one would hesitate to escape by means of a sharp point from the evils of life which he suffers, in order to enter into repose. Ah well! this sharp point of which Shakspere speaks—this liberating needle—we possess; it is the syringe of Pravas. By one plunge a person can efface all sufferings of mind and of body; the injustice of men and of fortune; and understand from this time on, the irresistible empire of this marvelous poison.”

The habit of taking ether is induced by the same causes that lead to the use of morphine. The danger, however, is not so great, and the habit can more easily be broken up. At the end of the inhalation one experiences a little dizziness that is not at all disagreeable; the sight becomes a little blurred, and the ears ring; the mental conceptions become gay, charming; hallucinations are developed, generally very pleasing. It is not necessary to increase the dose, for one would then reach a state of excitement, or be thrown into a sound sleep, such as physicians produce. Those who use it know this well, and moderate the dose, in order to make the pleasure of long duration. After the inhalation the subject returns almost immediately to his natural state. There is a little heaviness in the head and a dullness of the mind. Morphine users can secretly indulge in their habit, but ether emits a penetrating odor. In London, where it is more frequently practiced, the keepers of public squares and large parks often find in the more retired places empty bottles labeled “Sulphuric Ether.” These have been thrown down by those who have left their homes in order to give themselves up in the open air to their favorite passion.

These victims commence by breathing ether. Then they drink a few drops—and after a while larger quantities. This burning liquid soon becomes a necessity; and some even go so far as to drink chloroform—a veritable caustic.

Can anything be done for these unfortunate people? Yes, certainly—but only on one condition—that they wish to be cured. The best method is to separate, instantly, entirely, the patient from his family; to place him in an establishment where his movements can be watched, where he can be debarred, suddenly or gradually, as shall be judged best, from the poison.

The Americans—a practical people—have already built asylums for the treatment of morphine users. The Germans have recently finished two, one at Marienberg, the other at Schönberg.

But unfortunately, the French law does not permit us to do this. We can place in hospitals only those poison users who have become maniacs or idiots.

If the French are to be saved from this rapidly increasing evil, it is evidently necessary to prevent its beginnings. In order to do this, the sick must be kept from procuring it. Its sale must be regulated so that it will be impossible to get it in any quantity, or to use the same prescription twice. The emperor of Germany, upon the proposition of Prince Bismarck, has issued a decree to this effect. Under such a regulation the law for the physician would be never to prescribe the use of these drugs save in cases of absolute necessity.

The reading of medical books by the people is generally pernicious. I would, however, permit them to read the recent accounts of the effects of these drugs. If they are of comparatively late origin, these two fashionable poisons have already destroyed more victims than in a whole century has all the poison used by assassins.—_An Abridged Translation for “The Chautauquan” from the “Révue Scientifique.”_

OUR C. L. S. C. COLUMN.

BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

For the past year I have given in THE CHAUTAUQUAN a series of articles on the interior significance and higher aims of the Chautauqua movement, instead of the answers to questions which filled the C. L. S. C. column in former years. The closing article of this year must be made up of answers to questions which are of general interest.

1. A correspondent inquires “whether Alfred Ayres, author of the ‘Orthoepist,’ and editor of the English Grammar of William Corbett, is a recognized standard authority in pronunciation, and whether he should be preferred to Webster or Worcester.” To this I can only reply that I do not so understand Mr. Ayres’s claim or position in the field of letters. He certainly is not accepted as are Webster and Worcester; and the chief advantage of his little volumes is in showing what one man who has given much attention to the subject of pronunciation thinks on the subject. That is all.

2. “How can a knowledge of Greek, Roman, or any other history be of any benefit to me? I prefer to study the works of God, and in chemistry and other departments of science to trace the signs of his wisdom.”

_Answer_: It is important to study God’s great gifts to the race in the great characters of history and literature. The genius of Homer is as much a wonder as is any fact in physical science. Acquaintance with the vivacity, enterprise and energy of the Greek character is as valuable to people who now live in the world as is a knowledge of the physical constitution, shape, habits of life, and movements of the colossal creatures reported by geology as having occupied this planet ages on ages ago. No education is complete that has not to some extent been influenced by the spirit of the old Greek culture. The whole history of that people shows the impotence of mere culture without moral character, and we may trace through the ages of Greek history the evidences of divine wisdom and justice. By all means let us study natural science, but let us not abandon history. Whatever pertains to man in any age of the world should possess peculiar interest to us.

3. “People in our neighborhood often say to me: ‘Why study those books? You will not live to finish the course; and if you do, what good will it do you or your children?’”

_Answer_: Ignorant people often ask the question, “Of what use is education, beyond a small amount of reading, writing and arithmetic? Why should people who have to work in kitchens and fields study the stars? Why should men who neither care to act on the stage, or to write for the press, give much attention to William Shakspere?” Whatever our business may be, we need to read general literature because we are members of society, and owe something as rational beings to society. Parents should keep in sympathy with their children, whose world of knowledge must of necessity in this age grow wider and richer all the time. We are, moreover, members of this universe, and God is our Father. We have a right as his children to know something about his works and ways and wisdom. Life is a wearisome thing to people who are ignorant. There is sustaining power in the large thoughts which a true culture brings. If one expects to live forever with God, he should cultivate noble and worthy character on this side the grave, and such nobility is increased and such holiness promoted by a wide range of reading and study with worthy motive.

4. I am happy to announce that the “Chautauqua Press” has been fully organized. Under its direction some of the books of the C. L. S. C. will be published, and a series of standard books will be issued at once for the formation of home libraries; books adapted to the special courses and bearing also upon the Required Readings.

The first series of three or four volumes will be ready by August 1st, and will supplement the regular work of the coming C. L. S. C. year. While all the classes are reading Roman History, Latin Literature, Italian Biography, and Italian Art, our “Chautauqua Library, … Garnet Series,” will provide for those who wish to read more than the required books, and for those who, as graduates, wish to win seals, the following admirable volumes:

“Readings from Macaulay. Italy. With an Introduction by Donald G. Mitchell (Ik Marvel).”

“Readings from Ruskin. Italy. With an Introduction by H. A. Beers, Professor of English Literature in Yale College.”

“Art and the Cultivation of Taste, by Lucy Crane, with an Introduction by Charles S. Whiting, of the Springfield (Mass.) _Republican_.”

[The fourth volume of the first series will soon be announced.]

This series of four volumes will constitute a special course, for the reading of which the Garnet Seal (a new one) will be given to all graduates, and may be won by those undergraduates who are able to do more than the Required Reading for each year.

The Chautauqua Press will soon have on hand a rich library of cheap but handsomely printed and bound volumes with which every Chautauquan will desire to decorate and enrich “The Chautauqua Corner.”

Now we are on the eve of another summer of rest, of convocation, of Assembly reunions. From these retreats comes much of inspiration which keeps the Chautauqua movement in operation during the remainder of the year. Let me urge all members who can possibly do so to attend the nearest Assembly. Go to the Round-Table. Record your name on the list kept by the local secretary. Show your colors, and thus lend your influence to the Circle.

In behalf of the administration, the president, the counselors, the secretaries, I extend to all members of the Circle a hearty salutation; and to all of you who read these lines who have for any reason grown remiss or apathetic in C. L. S. C. service, I give an earnest invitation to come back, resume your readings, join the class of ’89, and make sure of a successful four years’ course.

You will join me, I am sure, in one universal Chautauqua salute to the honored editor of THE CHAUTAUQUAN and his competent associates and contributors as our tribute to the ability with which our monthly has been conducted.

And now, as we “study the word and the works of God,” may our Heavenly Father be “in the midst,” and “may we never be discouraged” in pursuing the high and beautiful ideal of the C. L. S. C.: The attainment of symmetrical and practical culture which will fit us the better to serve our fellows upon the earth, and to enjoy the blessings promised by our Father in the heavens!

PLAINFIELD, N. J., May 21, 1885.

GLIMPSES OF THE CHAUTAUQUA PROGRAM.

A part of our creed of late has come to be that we need change in summer. If our homes are in cities, we need it because we can not have there the requisites of good health—fresh air, pure water, quiet; if we live in the country, we want and need a change which will give us social advantages; if we are teachers or students, we want opportunities to see, to get new ideas, to observe new people and their customs. This theory of summer living makes the demand for summer resorts. It is rare, however, that any place offers with any degree of completeness health, society and opportunities. It is claimed for Chautauqua that all three may be found there; that it is, in short, an ideal summer resort, open to all classes of people. The outlook for Chautauqua in 1885 confirms this claim, and gives to its admirers most satisfactory glimpses of what is in store for them during the coming season.

Chautauqua is fortunate in having had candid, disinterested men examine its condition and management, and pronounce their verdict as to its healthfulness. One of the most critical examiners of public places in America, Hon. B. G. Northrup, made his visit to Chautauqua last summer a kind of inspection tour. He pried into every corner and cranny, and publicly denounced every abuse he found. With “courage indomitable,” the Chautauqua “powers that be” attacked the enemy, and “they are ours.” This summer there is no pestilential spot, not one vault nor cess-pool nor wet spot to poison the water and breed disease. The determination of the management to have perfect sanitary arrangement at any cost—even if all other improvements are abandoned—is producing a condition unparalleled. This result, and the means taken for its accomplishment, are worthy of close study by every visitor at Chautauqua, particularly by those who are property owners, or are interested in the government of towns.

Chautauqua is a _safe_ resting place. But it is more. It is preëminently a social place. Its social life is as pure and wholesome and natural as the air and water. Simple, unaffected manners, free, kindly intercourse, characterize the daily life of the people. “How very democratic you are here,” said a visitor last year, “and I don’t see a particle of snobbishness.” And it is true. The simple reason, perhaps, is that Chautauqua brings out of every one the best in them. People literally live too high there for snobbishness. They can run out in the morning for their milk or bread or steak; they can carry their bundles or do their own washing, and the high, clear, mental atmosphere of the place forbids them minding who sees them at their duties, forbids any one who sees them feeling that the work is menial. This mental and social air is indeed one of the most exhilarating things about the place. You do live socially above your ordinary level—live so because it is “in the air.” You can not help it.