Empires and Emperors of Russia, China, Korea, and Japan Part 9

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 pet.i.tion 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 introduced a 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 Ca.n.a.l, 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 ca.n.a.l, 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 quant.i.ties 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 European colony, the blockade of the barracks, the destruction of the railway station, and the ma.s.sacre 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 a.r.s.enal 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 journey across the two continents. As I neared my final destination, Pekin, and pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 us the 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 pa.s.sed, I saw foreign soldiers belonging to the Allied Forces; here fair Teuton giants, there short, brown _bersaglieri_. 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 ma.s.ses 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 the capital, 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 paG.o.das, 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

I

THE 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 pa.s.sengers, 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 friend tells 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 pa.s.s 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 debris. 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 Ca.n.a.l 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 lane skirting 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 pa.s.sword is given, and we are at last at home. In the courtyard, on the edge of the gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.s 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. By the 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 gra.s.s in paper shoes. He wears a light blue kaftan over a white tunic, and the colours harmonize well, 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.

II

THE 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 mult.i.tudinous and dazzling fragments a heap of ants are busy. And if we look at these through a magnifying gla.s.s, 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 princ.i.p.al street is broad, crossing the wall 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 facades 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 gra.s.s; 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 decorated with carved ta.s.sels and lace and every conceivable tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. 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 pa.s.sersby. 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 p.a.w.nbrokers' 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.