When it comes to understanding the experience of opium-smoking for slum-dwellers, lack of sources dictates that we look look towards the work of reporters who had made it their jobs to start investigating what it was like to live in the slums. This method of reporting has been called ‘slumming’ in recent historical literature.[1]
‘There is no limit to the variety of nationalities patronising the wretched hovel we are about to visit. From every quarter of the globe, and more immediately from every district in London, men come to old Yahee: the sole bond between them being a love of opium and a partiality for Yahee’s brand. Sailors, stewards, shopmen, mountebanks, beggars, outcasts, and thieves meet on perfect equality in New-court, and there smoke themselves into dreamy stupefaction.’[2]
This a direct quote from a book by the journalist J.C. Parkinson. He explains that these opium dens were open to anyone who wished to partake. The large focus of the all the people who frequented these premises was the ephemeral high that they had paid for. Journalists too were fascinated by these spaces and the temporary release from the everyday that they offered.[3]
Gustave Doré’s engraving (right) is an artistic representation of what the opium den in Charles Dickens book, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, would have looked like. This representation of the opium dens is bleak and makes them look unappealing for anyone from the middle class who wishes to experience the simple feeling of being removed from the world.
By contrast, Maurice Vernon’s engraving (below) shows various styles of opium dens, which are presented as exotic and otherworldly. Each den differed not on in the quality of the opium, but would also offer extra services to those wishing to indulge themselves, such as food. Even though the quality of service provided by the opium dens in London varied, the reason for the constant usage was always presented as the same: relaxation and escape from the everyday. This escape, however, was fleeting. It only lasted as long as the high lasted, which often wasn’t long enough, as many patrons were regulars at their respective dens.
‘Lazarus yonder is no longer the contemptible wretch he was when we threw him a penny on Cornhill two hours ago. His frame has expanded, his countenance has lightened, his mien has become bright and buoyant. Who knows time rapturous visions passing through his brain, or the blissfulness which prompts that half-expressed smile? The smallest-footed houris, the most appetising birds’-nests and stewed dogs, nay, the yellow mandarin’s button itself, are Lazarus’s now. What cares he for policemen, for the cuffs and kicks, the slurs and sneers, of the barbarians from whom he has to beg? Yahee’s shabby stifling little room is his glory and delight. To it he looks forward through the long and dreary day; by its pleasures he is compensated for the pains and penalties of his weary life. Booboo, too, has already forgotten the grievance he recounted half an hour ago, and with eyes raised to the ceiling, is in a rapturous half-trance. The visions this miserable little mole has seen – the sweet and solemn strains of music, the mighty feasts, the terrible dramas, the weird romances, the fierce love, the strange fantastic worship, the mad dreams, the gorgeous processions, the brilliant crowds, the mystic shadows, which have occupied it – would fill a volume.’[4]
This extract from J.C. Parkinson, Places and People (1869) shows how those who wished to indulge in opium escaped the problems that they were facing, even if it was only for a few hours. That was the pure draw for the opium dens, as they offered a means of escaping the abuses and issues that were faced throughout the day and replaced them with bliss and enjoyment, even if only for one night. For many of their patrons, hallucinations were the biggest draw of these dens. Not only were they capable of making them forget about their problems, but the images and creations that were conjured led many of these people to constantly use and abuse this drug, without realising how addicted they had become: ‘plain truth is, they are all such slaves to the drug of which Yahee is high priest, that when they once fall out of the groove of labour to which they have been accustomed, recovery is impossible.’[5] This shows the risk of such ephemeral joys.
Opium dens were generally associated with those of Chinese heritage, be it Chinese sailors who had just returned to London after being at sea, or beggars that wandered through the streets.[6] Many sailors who returned to land would head to Limehouse, a part of the London docks which provided sailors with brothels, pubs and opium dens. This area in the early 1900s became known as ‘Chinatown’ and newspaper readers were advised to avoid the area as it were considered unsavoury and dangerous. However, the very sensationalism of the reporting, and the exotic descriptions like Parkinson’s, often had the opposite effect, and actually encouraged ‘slummers’ to seek them out. [9]
Rhyce Papp
References:
[1] Koven, Seth. Slumming (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006).
[2] Parkinson, J.C. Places and People: Being Studies from Life (1869)
[3] Parkinson, Places and People.
[4]Parkinson, Places and People.
[5] Parkinson, Places and People.
[6] Parkinson, Places and People.
[7] Parkinson, Places and People.
[8] Seed, J. ‘Limehouse Blues: Looking For Chinatown In The London Docks, 1900-40’. History Workshop Journal, 62 (2006), pp. 58-85.
Exploring the Slum 