[*] Such terms as “Brother of the Sun and Moon” are altogether
    imaginary, and are quite unknown in China.

For twelve long months there may be no marrying or giving in marriage, that is among the official classes; the people are let off more easily, one hundred days being fixed upon as their limit.  For a whole year it is illegal to renew the scrolls of red paper pasted on every door-post and inscribed with cherished maxims from the sacred books; except again for non-officials, whose penance is once more cut down to one hundred days’ duration.  In these sad times the birth of a son—­a Chinaman’s dearest wish on earth—­elicits no congratulations from thronging friends; no red eggs are sent to the lucky parents, and no joyous feast is provided in return.  Merrymaking of all kinds is forbidden to all classes for the full term of one year, and the familiar sound of the flute and the guitar is hushed in every household and in every street.[*] The ordinary Chinese visiting-card —­a piece of red paper about six inches by three, inscribed with its owner’s name in large characters—­changes to a dusky brown; and the very lines on letter paper, usually red, are printed of a dingy blue.  Official seals are also universally stamped in blue instead of the vermilion or mauve otherwise used according to the rank of the holder.  Red is absolutely tabooed; it is the emblem of mirth and joy, and the colour of every Chinese maiden’s wedding dress.  It is an insult to write a letter to a friend or stranger on a piece of plain white paper with black ink.  Etiquette requires that the columns should be divided by red lines; or, if not, that a tiny slip of red paper be pasted on in recognition of the form.  For this reason it is that all stamps and seals in China are red—­to enable tradesmen, officials, and others to use any kind of paper, whether it has already some red about it or not; and every foreigner in China would do well to exact on all occasions the same formalities from his employes as they would consider a matter of duty towards one of their own countrymen, however low he might be in the social scale.

    [*] Mencius.  Book v., part ii., ch. 4.

Certain classes of the people will suffer from the observance of these ceremonies far more severely than others.  The peasant may not have his head shaved for one hundred days—­inconvenient, no doubt, for him, but mild as compared with the fate of thousands of barbers who for three whole months will not know where to look to gain their daily rice.  Yet there is a large section of the community much worse off than the barbers, and this comprises everybody connected in any way with the theatres.  Their occupation is gone.  For the space of one year neither public nor private performance is permitted.  During that time actors are outcasts upon the face of the earth, and have no regular means of getting a livelihood.  The lessees of theatres have most likely feathered their own nests sufficiently well to enable them to last out the prescribed term without serious inconvenience; but with us, actors are proverbially improvident, and even in frugal China they are no exception to the rule.