General KuropatkinGENERAL KUROPATKIN[To face page 124]
GENERAL KUROPATKIN[To face page 124]
Port Arthur impressed me greatly on account of its strategic importance, but what I saw of Dalny did not inspire me with much confidence as to its commercial future. During my visit I saw all that has been accomplished since 1898, and certainly, although many things are still far from perfect, and the mistakes made are very palpable even to the uninitiated, one cannot fail to recognize that much has been done in so short a time. But if we knew at what cost all this has been accomplished, our admiration would probably be considerably reduced.
No boat for Taku was likely to start for some time, so I decided to continue my journey to Pekin by rail. As far as Ying-tsé we travelled over the main Manchurian line, whence a branch line runs to Niu-chwang. This is the most northerly port of the Yellow Empire open to foreign trade. It is situated at a distance of thirteen miles from the mouth of the river Liao, which discharges into the gulf of Liaotung, a continuation of the gulf of Pechili. The railway line, which brings Niu-chwang into direct communication with Siberia and Pekin, was just finished. Branch lines in the direction of Tien-tsin had existed before this, but they were destroyed in the late Boxer troubles. To give my readers a somewhat accurate idea of the importance of this town I will try toquote from the Official journals:—
The town of Niu-chwang is rapidly growing in importance since the construction of the railway. The East China Railway between Port Arthur, Dalny, and the junction of Ta-shik-chia, whence a branch line runs to Port Arthur, was finished as far as Mukden towards the close of 1899. The Chinese Imperial line was also completed then. It was subsequently decided to deal systematically with the mineral resources of Manchuria, owing to the East China line having laid open the coal-mines at Mochi-Shan and Z'mershan near the Liaoyang, and at Wafungtien in the south of the Liaotung peninsula. The railway line runs right along these rich exploitations. An unprecedented commercial activity has accompanied these developments, resulting in an increase of 49 per cent. for 1898.
The chief articles of trade for this port are beans and oil-cake, with an export of 2,241,053 piculs of the former and 2,289,544 piculs of the latter in 1899. The net quantity of opium imported in 1898 was 92 piculs as against 2453 in 1879. The importation of opium has been steadily declining in the course of the last few years, the poppy seed being largely and successfully cultivated in Manchuria. The total figure of the trade of this port for 1899 has risen to 48,357,623 taels as against 32,441,315 in 1898.The port figured conspicuously in the disturbances of 1900; the Chinese troops which attacked the town being defeated by the Russians, who took possession of the port. Trade was necessarily at a standstill in 1900.
Niu-chwang was a revelation to me. I saw for the first time a real Chinese town in all its immensity. It appeared an inextricable labyrinth of streets and alleys overflowing with people. All our Western ideas are reversed here; indeed, buildings and people alike seemed to belong not only to another hemisphere, but to another planet. The lines are so strange, the colours so brilliant, the sounds so sharp, that one is at once deafened, blinded, and astonished. Beyond the city, on the solid earth, is the floating town on the river. The Liao at this point, little more than half a mile wide, is literally covered with vessels of every description.
It is a thronged mass of large merchant ships, smaller boats, and wooden junks. Each boat is a home, in which always one, and often several, families are housed with all their belongings: children, pigs, and poultry filling the decks. Those of the better classes who can afford it have regular summer-houses on the river, built like pagodas, elaborately furnished and surrounded by artificial gardens with dwarf trees in costly pots. In between this confusion ofboats, narrow passages and regular canals are left free on the water, in which graceful canoes are seen gliding and winding about like gondolas. Both on land and water, the crowds of human beings, and exuberance of life, are overwhelming.
One feels ill at ease and lost among this surging mass of humanity. The narrowest streets and the largest squares, the courts and the floating houses, all teem with life; and, in contrast with the sleepy, passive multitudes of India, all are active here, from the youngest to the oldest. All seem intent on their business, all appear to have some strenuous end in view. The capacity for work which this race possesses manifests itself everywhere from morning till night. Chinese strength and vitality are here seen in all their original energy and force.
Niu-chwang is an important place even now, but it has every possibility and likelihood of becoming one of the great commercial centres of the future. Its international trade has been hitherto hindered by the fact that the river is frozen for three months in the year, but since the completion of the Tien-tsin line the town has become easy of access by land. A railway bridge over the Liao is projected, and when this is built the train will run directly from Pekin to St. Petersburg. At present travellers have to cross the river in wooden junks, and continuetheir journey by the Chinese trains.
In the centre of the commercial town is the settlement of the Catholic Mission. Buried in a maze of tortuous streets, it is almost lost sight of in the bustle and noise of the adjacent fair, giving the impression of some Oriental bazaar. The little church, and the few small houses belonging to the Mission, are enclosed as far as possible by a whitewashed garden wall, which is but a poor protection in case of siege or serious disorders. If the populace were to show signs of hostility that ruinous wall would not hold out long against the mob; but they who join the Mission, who devote their lives to deeds of charity, who feed the starving, and care for the destitute, put their trust in a defence stronger than the strongest towers of this world. From the time that the missionary leaves his native land and offers his life to the Almighty, he spends his days in a constant state of uncertainty. From the moment that he sets foot on the shores of the Yellow Empire dangers of all kinds crowd around him. These martyrs to duty are continuously exposed to open and secret persecution, terrible epidemics, privations, and hardships of all kinds. Yet in spite of manifold trials and dangers, young priests and nuns who have only just taken the vow, go over to the Far East, happy and full of zeal, readyto devote their lives to the noble spiritual work.
On the day of my departure from Niu-chwang I had the good fortune to witness an historical event, the official transfer of the railway to the Chinese Governor-General of Manchuria. Since the last war the route between Niu-chwang and Hankau-chwang had been under the military control of Russia, while the other route between the latter town and Tien-tsin was held by British troops. There were great festivities in honour of the day. The station buildings were decorated with all the pomp of Asiatic taste; everywhere Venetian masts, floating banners, Chinese inscriptions, and Russian trophies, announced the great event, with laurel garlands symbolizing victory, and olive branches speaking of eternal peace. Ambitious mandarins and gold-bedizened Russian generals exchanged salutes and bows in sign of mutual respect. No doubt it was a case of "live and let live," for all appeared quite satisfied.
An interminable programme marked the order of the festivities, and if I had had an aptitude for journalism I could have written columns upon "The Official Transfer of the East China Railway Line by Russia to China." I could have indulged in lengthy descriptions of the receptions, presentations, floral offerings, banquets, with streams of champagne, and endless flow of toasts. But the best correspondentcould not have said more than I have done here upon the principal event, the actual transfer of the railway. He could not have pierced, any more than I could, that thick veil which hides from us the knowledge as to whether that railway has actually become Chinese property or not.
The country between Niu-chwang and Hankau-chwang is at first flat and uninteresting, although rich in vegetation. Nearer to the sea it becomes more varied, and in parts it is quite picturesque. Some of the bays of the Yellow Sea—which, by the by, is intensely blue just there—resemble the fjords and are dominated by craggy rocks. We advanced slowly and stopped at many stations, the Russian soldiers still always predominating over the native contingent.
It was late in the evening, when our train, with much noise, passed through the breach in the famous wall, by which I was greatly impressed. That enormous mass of masonry, one of the most colossal structures ever made by human hands, is here seen to the best advantage, skirting the steep inclines of the mountains, ascending to the tops of the highest peaks, or descending into the plains to lose itself finally in the unfathomable depths of the sea.
It is indeed a wonderful sight, and, like that other gigantic human undertaking, the Pyramids of Egypt, this wall is interesting, not only for its own sake, but also as marking a stage in thehistory of the civilization of the world. I gazed at it, and looked at our powerful engine, with its long train of American-built carriages, as it passed through the breach, and in that one glance there was much to comprehend both from the past and for the future of Asia.
At Hankau-chwang a surprise awaited me. The English troops had finished their mission, and on this momentous occasion the commander gave a dinner. The guests were assembled in the little yamen near the station. The dining-room was tastefully draped and hung with pretty watercolours. Books and knick-knacks lay about, and the table was covered with an immaculately white cloth and set out with a dinner-service of severe simplicity, but scrupulously clean. A simple abode it was, but every detail of it would bring to temporary inmates the pleasant recollections of the comforts and the charm of their English homes.
Another interesting stage of my journey was from Hankau-chwang to Tien-tsin, through one of the richest districts of China. Our train stopped frequently, for we touched many important towns. Trade is brisk in this part. In places the ground was cultivated like a vegetable garden, but the real wealth of the district lies in its coal-mines. In the way of structural curiosities the two chief sites on the road were the country house of Li Hung-Chang and FortTaku.
The late Viceroy and great politician had also been a clever financier. His weakness for speculation and commercial enterprise was well-known throughout the country. The coal-mines of this neighbourhood were partly his property. He not only looked well after his personal affairs, but also took care to inquire into the financial position of those with whom he dealt. Whenever he entertained a foreign diplomatist, or granted an interview to the director of some international company, or even the head of some ordinary business house desirous of gaining information about special concessions or privileges, the first question the Viceroy asked invariably was: "What is he worth? How rich is he?" The success of a petition depended, so I was told, to a great extent upon the sum of money poured into the coffers of the statesman as a preliminary investment.
Fort Taku does not need to be described at length. It has played a conspicuous part in the history of the last five-and-twenty years—in the struggles between the West and the East, the White and the Yellow races. It has been several times bombarded, destroyed, and rebuilt. At present it is again in ruins.
There is now a new commercial town in course of erection. In the place of the old-world style, modern colonists have introduceda somewhat vulgar and insipid form of architecture, which possesses neither the picturesqueness of the old Chinese towns nor the advantages of our European cities. The colony is as yet in its infancy, and only counts a few rows of small houses and some miserable shops.
The last stopping-place on my journey was Tien-tsin. Situated on the crossing of the Peiho and the Grand Canal, this is one of the most important towns of China. It has a population of over a million, and is divided into the city proper, the foreign confines, and the suburbs. The old part is a perfect specimen of a Chinese town, overpopulated, brilliant, noisy, and dirty; a hustling, bustling crowd of humanity living like bees in a hive. It contains many interesting monuments, although the chief attraction of the city no longer exists, I mean its enclosure, the wall which surrounded a square of four thousand feet. It was pulled down to make room for trade traffic.
The European quarter is very different in character; it has large squares, shady avenues, and beautiful buildings. Each nation represented there has a little colony of its own, with barracks, commercial offices, and consular residences. The English colony, which is close to the French, boasts of the best buildings, has large, well-kept streets, and is guarded by some very fine-looking Sikhs. The large dwelling-houses,the homely bungalows, and the turbaned figures of the tall soldiers, remind one of some Indian cantonment. The Italian and Austrian quarters are on the other side of the canal, and almost lost among the native town. Since the occupation of the Allied Troops the importance of Tien-tsin has grown considerably, and in time it is likely to become a powerful rival to Shanghai as far as international commercial interests are concerned. In fact, it has all the commercial advantages of Shanghai. When we consider that at the time of the Ming dynasty it occupied only a secondary position, its development is the more remarkable. Tien-tsin is about eighty miles distant from Pekin, and lies near the sea; its commercial advantages as the market for export and import trade are therefore evident.
The railway has added another considerable advantage to the many already possessed by Tien-tsin, namely that of bringing it into direct communication with the mainland. Li Hung-Chang, who, in his capacity of Viceroy, resided there for many years, was a strong supporter of the place. Under him it became, not only a large commercial centre, but with the normal schools for the organization of army and navy, other elements were attracted towards the place, and different occupations introduced.
Tien-tsin, in fact, has become the home of the progressive party. Pamphlets, daily papers,literary and political clubs, have propagated the views and ideas of the great Viceroy. It was Li Hung-Chang who started the first coal-pit in the neighbourhood of Tong-shan, about thirty years ago, and the export of coal is making rapid progress. The output amounts at present to nearly three hundred thousand tons. Another local industry of great importance is the production of salt. This is a Government monopoly, and is obtained through the evaporation of sea-water. The salt lies piled up in heaps along the banks of the river. Spirituous liquors are distilled in large quantities and sent into the interior. The exports include wines, furs, skins, bristles, and wood. Export trade, which did not exist five-and-twenty years ago, now reaches a total of about fifteen million taels per annum.
From the time of the first European expedition in 1858, Tien-tsin has been the scene of much fighting and many desperate battles. During the last rebellion the disturbances were greater there than anywhere else, and it was there also that the Boxers, in the beginning of June, 1900, set fire to the Foreign Mission settlements. At first no one seemed to realize the imminence of the danger, and it was not until the second half of the same month, after the bombardment of Taku, that hostilities, attended with all the horrors of war, were seriously commenced. The attack on the Europeancolony, the blockade of the barracks, the destruction of the railway station, and the massacre of the missionaries and Christians, followed each other rapidly. Eye-witnesses have given us graphic descriptions of the atrocities committed during the insurrection. The bravery of the troops, the missionaries, the Christian women, and the children, has excited the admiration of the world. Many ruins still testify to this prolonged siege.
The chief event of my stay in this place was my visit to the Viceregal Palace. If Li Hung-Chang had been a great statesman, his successor was not unworthy of him. Yuan-tsi-Khai and Chan-chi-Tung are the two most prominent men of modern China. Nature has endowed them very differently, but they are alike zealous in their endeavours to rouse China from its apathy. Although the ways and means by which they hope to effect their object are different, the end in view is the same. Chan-chi-Tung is a peace-loving man, an ardent follower of the doctrine of Confucius, and strongly attached to the national principles of morality. He favours reform in undertakings of a purely commercial and industrial nature, in financial transactions; but in intellectual and spiritual questions he is very conservative. In his own province he has made successful attempts at improvement. He has established factories,cotton mills and looms, forges, local railways, and an important arsenal on the Yangtse-kiang.
His adversaries—and he has many, like every one who rises above the common level—accuse him of being an idealist. But in most cases his ideas, practically carried out, have proved to be of very real benefit to his country. He is a deep thinker and a most pleasant and interesting companion. His writings on various political and social questions are fine specimens of human philosophy.
Yuan-tsi-Khai is, on the contrary, before all a man of action, a soldier at heart. He loves to fight his enemies and to press forward without considering the difficulties in the way.
My sojourn at Tien-tsin was of special service to me in obtaining clearer ideas as to the actual conditions of China. I made the acquaintance of many interesting persons, some of whom are the makers of the history of our time. They were not all of the same nationality, nor did they all pursue the same vocation, nor were they all of the same mind; their opinions also were widely different. But it is to a certain extent owing to the antagonism of their views that I was enabled to form some provisional conclusions.
It was on a bright afternoon of the short St. Martin's summer that I accomplished the last twenty-four miles of my long railway journeyacross the two continents. As I neared my final destination, Pekin, and passed through the flat and barren country I could hardly realize that I had traversed such an enormous distance during the last few months. I tried to recall to mind the different countries I had passed through and their inhabitants, the prosperous towns and the miserable villages I had visited; the centres of civilization and the primitive solitudes.
Then I began to comprehend all I had seen. Much of my previous conceptions of this part of the world had been vague, for the difference between what one imagines and what actually is, is great! One may gather the most reliable information, listen to the most explicit descriptions, or study the best books, but how far all this falls short of personal experience! The best references, the most accurate figures, the most lucid writings, will never produce the same effect as reality, and it is not upon those somewhat abstract notions that our faculties are exercised with the greatest profit. What one feels has even more weight than what one sees, and psychological studies are of greater value than statistics. To know a country, it is the life, the everyday existence, of its inhabitants that we have to study. Life in all its varied expressions, in labour and in rest, in its fundamental principles and its manifold manifestations, this it is which reveals to usthe deep source from which the energizing elements flow in diverse directions.
It was growing dark as we neared the end of our journey. On the platforms of the small stations we passed, I saw foreign soldiers belonging to the Allied Forces; here fair Teuton giants, there short, brownbersaglieri. And at each succeeding station there was more movement, more confusion, till we reached the metropolis. The sun was setting as we skirted the imperial deer park. Every moment the light effects increased in beauty. The sombre masses of foliage, framed by the blue lines of the eastern hills, formed an enchanting picture.
Outlines and colours were so unexpected, so strangely blended, that it looked like a painting from the magic brush of some great Chinese master. The forests stood out dark and menacing, as if still sheltering the monsters and dragons of ancient folk-lore, and the hills were like so many pointed sugar-loaves, heaped up by some awful giants.
It was as perfect a Chinese landscape as I could have wished to see, and to crown all, the sun went down in a blaze of light; it was as if fiery darts were being shot across the flaming sky. I have seen many sunsets in the tropics, and in the East, but never anything to equal this. The brightness of it flooded with saffron the clouds of dust always hanging over thecapital, and illumined all the million atoms which rise from the Mongolian desert....
At an unexpected turn in the road it seemed as if the golden veil was torn aside to give me a glimpse of the mysterious city. The stage effect was perfect; the curtain might have been drawn by a clever manager's hand to reveal the great Hatamen Gate in all its magnificence. The famous crenellated walls; the lofty towers and proud pagodas, first described by Marco Polo; the heavy bastions, and the marble bridges, were but indistinctly visible, and therefore all the more suggestive and beautiful. In fact, my first impression of Pekin was of a fancy or dream. What the city really looked like was as yet mercifully hidden from me; my imagination could have full play, untrammelled by the disillusions of knowledge and experience. Afterwards I saw things differently, but that first day the great city of the mighty Khan seemed as a mirage to me.
The crumbling citadel of a great nation, nay, of the whole glory of a mighty race, the monument of its art, the Walhalla of its history, shone in the dazzling splendour of the afterglow, like a golden city floating on golden clouds.
VI
PEKIN
ITHE ARRIVAL
It is evening when I arrive in Pekin. The train stops outside the Tartar Wall. Darkness shrouds everything, and the place seems to be deserted. Not even a guard or porter is to be seen. Alongside the embankment a few coolies with gigantic lanterns are waiting for the passengers, and, in quaint procession, with innumerable balloons hanging from long bamboo sticks, are searching for their masters. They all shout, but no one seems to understand them. There is no trace of any vehicles or carriages, and I don't see even a platform. I am standing in the midst of a desert; behind me, some sandhills and a pool are all I can distinguish, and in front, among the crowd of coolies, a tall figure is conspicuous, which approaches, and, by the yellow rays of a pumpkin-like lantern, I recognize an old acquaintance. Here he occupies the position of First Secretary of Legation, and brings me an invitation from his chief. My trunks are taken in charge by an attendant, and we walk towards my new abode, which my friendtells me is close by.
It is explained to me that the present railway station is only a temporary one; only since the occupation by the Allied Forces have trains been able to penetrate as far as the inner wall. They used to have to stop miles away, as no engine was allowed to desecrate the holy city of Pekin. At a short distance from the temporary station is a tunnel-like opening in the wall, and I am informed that it was made for the use of members of the legations and foreign settlement, and has ex-territorial rights granted to it. I pass through the so-called Gate of the Nations full of expectation, for I am most anxious for surprises, which certainly are not wanting.
I hope to see before me a fairy city and scenes like those on the stage; but instead of splendour and glitter I see mist. By the flickering light of a few paraffin lamps I begin to distinguish the famous international quarter, but I feel it would be better if they were not lit, for they only disclose ruins and débris. Among heaps of bricks and mortar we reach the edge of a ditch of stagnant water, which, as my companion informs me, not without some pride, is the so-called Canal of Jade. It is a magnificent name, which I have known for a long time. If I have pictured it to myself as different from what it is in reality, it is not the fault of an exaggerated fancy; and as we stumble along in the laneskirting the ditch—I beg its pardon; on the banks of the waters of Jasper—I still cannot perceive anything else but garden walls. I don't even see the famous Jade Stream, for though long ago there may have been water in the ditch, there are now only puddles here and there. But if I can't see, I smell all the more; smell all kinds of unimaginable and imaginable odours.
At last we approach a gate with a martial sentry in front of it. The password is given, and we are at last at home. In the courtyard, on the edge of the grass, are a number of lanterns. Large and yellow, they look like melons. The effect is charming, but as they give but very indifferent light, I can only distinctly discern some pillars and arches. Now we pass through some open halls and reach a garden-like square. To the right and left from the windows of small summer-houses the light of candles filters through. In front is another building in the same style, a few columns supporting a heavy roof; the columns are of red lacquered wood, and the tiles of emerald-green. Beyond this is another garden, and lastly the legation proper. The door is open and the hall ablaze with light. On the broad staircase are servants in red—pigtailed Chinese, dressed after the fashion of their country. They salute us, bowing low, with their hands folded.
The scene is interesting, the setting fine. Bythe light of the lanterns the roof of the old yamen appears even more gabled than it is, and its eaves the more bizarre than in reality. At last I have before me a truly Chinese picture, thousands of years old, artistic and brilliant. But the scene quickly changes as we go inside, and from the past we come to the present, from Oriental surroundings we step into a Western interior.
*****
The rays of the rising sun wake me as they burst brightly into the courtyard of the yamen, filtering, rosy-coloured, through the embrasures of the crenellated walls.
My quarters have a verandah looking upon a small courtyard, the pillars of which are of ruby lacquer, its roof of emerald glaze. In the yard are many flowers planted in old china vases. Four cedars, ages old, stand in the corners, and their branches form a lovely shady tent under the canopy of a morning sky. The branches of the old trees and the eaves are swarming with birds which awake with me, and merry with their songs.
On opening my eyes I scarcely know whether I am awake or still dreaming. It takes me some time to realize my surroundings. In the little garden some one is noiselessly crossing the grass in paper shoes. He wears a light blue kaftan over a white tunic, and the colours harmonizewell, for this slate-blue suits his yellow complexion, and a long pigtail hangs down his back.
This is reality. I am indeed in the Flowery Land. I am actually awaking in Pekin.
IITHE FIRST DRIVE THROUGH THE TOWN
It is eight o'clock in the evening. I have just returned from Pei-tang; it takes nearly an hour to come from there. And what a road! Imagine a brilliant stereoscope with living figures rushing forward upon you as you gaze—a gigantic kaleidoscope in which, among multitudinous and dazzling fragments a heap of ants are busy. And if we look at these through a magnifying glass, the effect will be somewhat similar to one's first impression of Pekin. Bedlam, uproar, chaos; and all this half concealed by a veil of whirling dust. It would be difficult to recount what I have seen, and even more difficult to explain what my sensations were. I was amazed by the brilliant spectacle.
It is early in the morning when I set out on my exploring expedition. From the street in which the legation stands we suddenly turn into the grand Imperial Square. The yellow-roofed palace in front of us may be called the focus of Pekin, nay, the centre of the whole Yellow Empire, for every road leads thither.
The principal street is broad, crossing thewall of the Tartar city. A few miles farther to the south it strikes the Chinese town, and through gates like triumphal arches, and over bridges, across moats, and skirting bastions, reaches the open. This is the perspective before me: my eyes penetrate in a straight line, almost any distance, to the sea at the farthermost point of the realm, but the crowd is so dense and the traffic so thick, and there are such clouds of dust, that we can hardly see what is going on within a yard of us. Caravans of camels, people on horseback, carriages, and carts follow each other incessantly. Every moment we narrowly escape a collision. It is a wonder that numbers of the shaky little vehicles do not get smashed, for there is a continuous stream of fresh phantom-like objects.
The palace is surrounded by a high wall painted red, and roofed with yellow tiles. Red likewise is the large gate studded with yellow nails. In fact, there are three gates side by side—in China everything is threefold—but they are all closed. In front of them are sentries, for the palace is sacred, and entrance into it means decapitation. On the other side are small shops and stores, in the windows of which are exhibited motley wares, while the façades are carved with a hundred and one very quaint pictures. What they represent I am at a loss to know.
We escape into one of the many side streets.It is narrow, dark, and seems to be endless, running along between the houses like a river, to right and left.
Now we reach something like a desert. I cannot call it a common, because there is no grass; there is nothing but dust and dirt. Farther away are some ruins, and still farther a red wall can be seen. It is again the wall of the Imperial city, that gigantic structure that follows us wherever we go. It is either in front of us or behind us, on one side or the other. Beyond the wilderness are rows of houses. Behind huge walls the tops of some shadowy trees are visible now and again, the gabled roofs of yamens and a few flagstaffs.
A little more wilderness is followed by a few rows of houses, and beyond them come some streets; shops crowded with customers, and, lastly, the ubiquitous red wall again.
In the middle of the wall is the gate, a wooden structure, with gabled towers and aggressively golden dragons painted on it, and little bells hanging down from the corners. Crowds are streaming from the archway; sunburnt coolies endeavouring to get their light carts over the marble steps. Now we face the broad Imperial street. The shops on both sides are still more carved and gilt than the others. The gables are like umbrellas blown inside out by the wind, and the edges do not lack ornament, being decoratedwith carved tassels and lace and every conceivable trimming. The signboards are well worth studying. Some are of wood, others of metal, cast iron, or paper; but all display glaring colours. No wonder they attract the attention of passersby. The shoemakers' wooden signs are of unusually large size, showing the latest fashion in foot-gear either painted or carved, and apparently floating in the clouds or in higher spheres. The sign is generally suspended in the claws of some grinning monster or lion by a chain that is fastened to the eaves. Next in point of merit are the signs of the Pekin apothecaries, who in this respect decidedly excel us; and the pawnbrokers' symbols deserve even more attention than the others from an artistic point of view.
The pavement is occupied by stalls and booths, their only protection from the sun being a sheet of canvas fixed to a pole. The wares are spread out on the ground. Street kitchens abound, consisting of little earthenware stoves or small iron grates which are used for cooking. Half-naked workmen are huddled round the tables, which are covered with little mugs about as large as teacups, each containing something different, hundreds of delicacies with sauces both bitter and sweet at once. Long thin sticks are used instead of forks, and the skill shown in the handling of them is simply astonishing. I have never seen people eat more daintily. A dinnerof eight or nine courses can be had for about one farthing. With their chopsticks they pick out some of the solid dishes, seasoning them with four or five different sauces. The Chinese are the greatest gourmets in the world, for I notice that the ordinary meals of labourers are more complicated than the choicest menu of a French chef.
The end of the street is enclosed by a wall—the usual red wall—the inner defence of the Imperial city. Here stands the Western Gate, and the monumental quarter, with yellow tiled roofs, begins. In front of it is a sentry, the entrance to the garden being strictly prohibited.
My way is not in that direction, but to the north. In the centre of the park, which has recently been replanted, stands the cathedral, finished a few months ago.
The work of the Chinese Missions is written on one of the latest pages of universal history. The events of two years ago are still vividly impressed on our memories, when the few hundred Christians who had sought refuge at the Mission in Pei-tang seemed to be doomed. No one believed that they could stand the siege of the frantic mob, for, except a garden wall a few feet high, there were no means of defence. It was due to the most resolute courage and valour that the little flock did not surrender. Old and young, priests and soldiers, fought side by sidein the breaches from morning to night.
During the weary weeks of the siege many fell under arms, and many more among the orphans and sisters of charity died of exhaustion.
The recent graves forming the small cemetery in the inner garden were dug to receive the bodies of these new martyrs.
But, after all, Christian faith triumphed over pagan hatred, and finally the hour of deliverance struck. And today Pei-tang and its cathedral stand finer and stronger than before, to the benefit of humanity and the glory of God.
IIITHE NEW LEGATION QUARTERS
It is now a month since I arrived in Pekin. The autumn has passed quickly—and October is the finest time during the whole year in the yellow capital, for the weather is mild and clear. In the morning it is cool, and frosts are not rare at night. But later in the day the skies are cloudless, and the sun is often as hot as in summer. As regards climate—which, by the way, is an important factor in the life and progress of a nation—Pekin is a bundle of contrasts. The summer is hot, the winter extremely cold, the spring wet, and the autumn very dry. Since my arrival there has been no rain, but occasionally it has become cloudy, and as dark as if the sun were eclipsed. The wind, when blowingfrom the north, sweeps sand from the desert of Gobi before it, and shrouds the whole town in a veil as it were. This sand spreads over the whole atmosphere like a dense fog, through which one can hardly see a yard's distance. It penetrates windows, doors, even cracks, and buries the whole district like a stream of lava. After a sand-storm the sky clears, and becomes bluer than the blue dome of the Mediterranean, smooth and translucent as though cut out of a gigantic sapphire. This contrast between dull and bright weather seems to create two distinct towns; in the one all is gloomy, in the other all is bright. That is the reason why those who have described Pekin have either found everything sombre, or have looked upon it through rosy spectacles. The truth lies between the two extremes. I go so far as to say that each is correct—but only relatively.
The traveller who would describe Pekin ought to make daily notes of what he has seen and heard when he sees and hears it, and use light and shade as an artist on his canvas. He who adopts this method will be more successful than those who merely restrict themselves either to recording salient points, or matters of historical importance, or to advocating some political idea.
The longer I live within the walls of Pekin the more am I convinced that, in spite of her decadent condition, she is yet full of vitalityand, like Constantinople, embodies a national ideal.
In the afternoon I stroll over to the international area and pay a visit to all the legations. My amiable guide, who was here during the siege, when so many of the defenders perished, can supply information as to many dark episodes of the Boxer rebellion, and shows me where the most serious attacks were made, how they bombarded the legations from the city wall over there, how they used to throw blazing torches on to the roofs of these houses, and how they tried to blow up that quarter.
Looking at the place now, it seems incredible that the garrison—a mere handful—should have been able to withstand the frenzied crowd; but one must not forget that it was a mob, not a disciplined army.
As to the French and English legations, the former was reduced nearly to ruins, while the latter suffered comparatively little damage, but lost more lives.
The so-called European quarter is a large area of about a mile and a half square, lying between the Imperial city and the Tartar wall, and crossed by the Rue des Legations.
The Legation QuarterTHE LEGATION QUARTER"Long rows of caravans coming from the western frontier and Tibet"[To face page 152]
THE LEGATION QUARTER"Long rows of caravans coming from the western frontier and Tibet"[To face page 152]
I start on my round at the Legation Yamen. In front of the royal palace on the right are the new American barracks, before the gates of which a number of soldiers of every nationalityare lounging. Opposite is the International Hospital, a two-storeyed building painted light blue; an uglier erection I have never seen, but I am pleased to find the interior arrangements excellent.
The Dutch and American legations came next, adjoining each other, as do also the Russian and English, but of these only the garden walls are visible. Architecturally the American legation is decidedly unattractive, and therefore it does not matter much that it is hidden from view, but the Russian and English legations are typical Chinese dwellings. The architecture of the latter is interesting, for the house itself belonged to one of the Imperial princes, and was built in a style worthy of his rank. On the opposite bank of the canal the Italian and Japanese concessions form a square. A new wall has been built quite recently, and is fortified at the corner by a turret. The German legation is on the other side of the Rue des Legations. The barracks have just been completed, and if they were built for vindictive reasons, Germany has more than attained her end, so hideous are they. Built in Gothic style, they are the most conspicuous of all, and utterly destroy the harmony of the Oriental forms around them. The Austro-Hungarian legation is still in course of erection, in the style of a villa with porticoes; its chief merit lies in its simplicity, but it would certainlyhave harmonized better with its surroundings had the architect adhered to the style of the old yamens. Though the walls and slender pillars may appeal to the æsthete, it reminds one of a castle of cards, which will easily collapse in future troubles.
The series of legations is closed by the Belgian. The Russo-Chinese and Shanghai Banks are also in the Rue des Legations, the former supported by Russian, the latter by English capital. Their operations spread far and wide.
Such are the main features of the so-called international territory, that famous and historic spot, the theatre of the recent Chinese troubles. Every inch of it was most gallantly defended by its feeble garrison, day and night, for many months. These heroes were decimated by the bullet, sickness, or famine.
The great distance between Europe and China was probably the reason why the outer world knew so little of the serious nature of the siege, and the isolation of the legations made matters worse.
At the time of my visit it was barely two years since it all happened, but, during that short time, a new city had arisen on the ruins of the European concession. To get a better view I ascend a bastion, and wherever I look busy workmen meet my eyes. The Powers seem to be vying with each other; one patronizesgables, another prefers towers, or adorns its walls with bastions; but all is with the view of overshadowing their neighbours. My eye was at first offended by the artistic shortcomings of these buildings, but now it is their practical defects that are conspicuous. It looks as if the oft-quoted and melancholy chaos which followed the victory of the Powers has found visible expression in this new quarter. There seems to be neither uniformity of plan nor advantage of position.
But this is not the only weak point of the Treaty of Chefoo. Its provisions fixed the war indemnity, established commercial treaties of dubious worth, and made a few concessions valuable only for the moment, and this at a time when the Powers were absolute masters and in a position to dictate reforms, not only of local and temporary importance, but of universal, historical, and moral value.
The Boxer movement of 1900 came as a great surprise, at any rate to the majority of the Powers, and during the outbreak the sole aim of some of the legations seemed to be to secure their own advantage and defeat the aspirations of the rest. This might partly explain how the most guilty persons escaped punishment, and the old state of affairs in China soon returned.
The foreign ministers came back and occupied their new quarters, protected by thicker walls,which the Boxers would have more difficulty in pulling down. I do not know whether I ought to take all I was told about these fortifications seriously, but the garden walls seemed to have been built in the belief that they were indestructible. A few hundred soldiers are kept here by the respective Powers to protect their subjects in case of war. They might suffice in the event of a street riot, but if this nation of four hundred millions should some day determine to act in unison, these walls and the ornamental sentries would, I am afraid, make a very poor defence. In fact, it is hardly to be believed that, if China were once more to attack the European legations, she would employ a mob for the purpose. It is more likely that she will wait until her army is reorganized and armed with modern rifles and Krupp guns.
The new quarter exhibits the same defects as the old. The walls, indeed, are a little higher and the barracks have additional wings, but they remain isolated as before.
It is always a difficult task to throw up defensive works within a city—even the value of the most efficient is questionable; but, if these precautionary measures were absolutely needful, it would certainly have been better to enclose the entire European quarter with a stronger common wall, as is the case with the Imperial city. This would have made it possible for thegarrisons of the legations to defend any point attacked conjointly. And it would have had the further advantage that a really pretty, shady town would have been built in the Anglo-Indian style, amongst earthworks planted with trees, instead of a number of insanitary separate walled prisons.
Or would it not have been better to build the European town outside the city gate, between the canal and the railway, where the movement of Pekin is least felt? Neither money nor concessions were wanting, and, both for hygienic and strategical reasons, it would have been far better. The air is purer there, and, in the event of danger, the chances of escape or of obtaining assistance from without are far greater.
The present European quarter in Pekin reminds one of a town which has been rebuilt, after violent earthquakes, on the same spot and in the same way, on that most unsubstantial foundation—chance.
IVTHE TARTAR CITY
The outward appearance of the city, with the exception of the European quarter, is the same as of yore. The ground plan of Pekin is very regular, and is formed of two squares, one the Tartar, the other the Chinese town, each surrounded by a separate wall, with a totalnumber of thirteen gates, with gigantic double-roofed towers.
The centre is occupied by the Imperial city, within which is the Purple or Forbidden City, and inside this we come at last to the Emperor's palaces, private mansions, villas, tea-houses, and temples. The Imperial Palace is itself intersected by gardens, lakes, and streams, and looks more like a city than a palace, nay, like a miniature picture of this whole-walled country.