Life and sport in China Part 10

A Chinese banquet is a weird festivity, and once gone through will never be forgotten.

On the occasion which I will attempt to describe invitations were issued for 10 a.m., but in accordance with celestial custom the guests did not arrive till about 11.30, when, after waiting half an hour, during which the company chatted, drank tea and smoked, we were ushered into a large hall with brick floor and paper windows, where the repast was spread on three round tables, at each of which were three Europeans and five or six Chinese, our hosts, clad in their beautiful silk official robes, while we wore black morning coats.

The tables were of plain wood and without table-cloths, while the luxuriously-cushioned divans of Far East imaginings were hard wooden stools.

Numbers of little dishes containing dried fruits, sweets, pickles, slices of ham, preserved eggs (more than a year old, black and highly offensive), vegetables, etc., loaded the festive boards.

Each feaster was provided with a pair of chopsticks and two small sheets of brown paper with which to wipe them after each course.

Warm yellow wine of a peculiar musty flavour and sadly lacking in potency, was poured by attendants from pewter kettles into small wine-cups, to be tossed off in b.u.mpers all round with great frequency, each guest immediately presenting his empty cup to the gaze of his neighbours to show that there had been no heel-taps. It looked as though we were simultaneously levelling revolvers at each other's heads.

At a given signal the fray began. All the Chinese rose up, took their chopsticks, and plunging them into various dishes began helping us, the guests of honour. On my one small plate were quickly deposited some sweets, sour pickles, dried fruit, slices of ham, and one of the notorious eggs.

Now we in turn were expected to rise up and return the compliment by helping our helpers. I clutched my sticks, drove them into a piece of fish and dropped it into my neighbour's wine. Tableau! Never mind, I tried pickles and preserves in detail with about an average success.

No good came of my efforts, but neither did any harm, for our entertainers smiled and bowed and rose from their seats in gracious acknowledgment of our strenuous but futile attempts to do the correct thing.

All this was but a preliminary canter taking the place of our dessert, albeit coming before the meal instead of at the end.

Hot courses were now placed on the table, our Chinese friends helping us from them with their chopsticks, which they manipulated with marvellous dexterity.

1. Puddings of several kinds Too sweet.

2. Fresh-water Fish (boiled) Insipid.

3. Chickens (boiled) Fair.

4. Sea Slugs Pa.s.sed.

5. Shrimps Nasty.

6. White Mushrooms Good.

7. Eels First-rate.

8. Sea-weed Tough as leather.

9. White Bait Good.

10. Interiors of Fish Good heavens!!!

11. Lotus Nuts and Milk Very good.

12. Chicken (boiled in different manner) Pa.s.sed.

13. Rissoles of Frogs Je ne sais pas.

14. Pork and Rice Flour A curious mixture.

15. Sugared Rice Too sweet.

16. Duck (boiled) Excellent, the best dish.

17. Shark's Fins Very good.

18. Porridge No thanks.

19. Soup Pa.s.sed.

20. Opium, cigars, etc. On this occasion opium was not smoked.

This long _menu_ was gone through accompanied with an abundance of talk, compliments, jokes and the emission of various sounds peculiar to the Chinese while feeding.

Immediately on rising from table we donned our hats, saluted _a la Chinoise_ by shaking our clasped hands in each other's faces, "Nin ching. Poo sung, poo sung," and took our departure, bowing repeatedly and walking backwards.

CHAPTER VII

AROUND PEKING

The translation of the word Peking is "capital of the North," and is so called in contradistinction to Nanking[1] or "capital of the South."

Peking is not a Chinese city at all, although generally supposed to be so, but a Tartar city, which, instead of the jumble of narrow, paved streets habitually found in all Chinese towns, was originally designed and laid out on a plan probably excelling in grandeur that of any other city in the world. That the result, as seen in the city of to-day, is but a mockery of the magnificent idea which possessed the master mind that conceived it, is due to that trait of the Mongolian temperament which exhausts itself in the conception and completion of some gigantic undertaking, leaving it thenceforth to moulder and decay, until in succeeding ages it stands gaunt witness of human wisdom, folly and neglect. Such are Peking, the Great Wall and the Grand Ca.n.a.l.

Although adjoining the Tartar, there is a Chinese city, it is so squalid and of such mean pretensions that with the exception of a single street it is of but little interest to Europeans, so that when speaking of Peking it is the Tartar city alone that one has in mind.

Surrounded by an immense rectangular wall, some sixty feet in height, with a width of twenty feet at the top and forty feet at the base, and pierced at regular intervals by picturesque and towering gateways, between which wide boulevards traverse the city from end to end and from side to side, but which, instead of being paved and lighted, are but lanes of filth, ankle deep in dust during dry weather, to be quickly changed by rain into rivers of black mud, continuously churned up by the wheels of springless carts, and spattered far and wide by the plunging feet of straining quadrupeds.

On either side of, and frequently several feet below, these highways are mud paths, along which pedestrians wend a varied way, avoiding cesspools, stepping over transverse timbers or circ.u.mventing squatters' huts, showered on the while by splashings from the highroad or blinded by clouds of refuse-laden dust.

The only attempt at lighting is by means of lanterns, which, with heavy wooden frames covered with paper instead of gla.s.s and placed at intervals of perhaps a quarter of a mile, throw out rays to the extent of one candle-power each.

From the streets very few buildings of any pretensions can be discerned, while from the dominating eminence of the city wall a sea of roofs monotonous in equality of height and greyness of colour meets the eye, which sameness is mostly due to the facts that but few upper storeys exist, and that the residences of the wealthy, besides being screened by high outer walls, are so blended with shops and hovels that it is difficult to discriminate them.

In the heart of Peking, and surrounded by a twenty-foot wall coped with tiles glazed yellow and green, is the forbidden city, where the imperial palaces are grouped and from which Europeans were until recently jealously excluded.

The city walls; a few temples in varying stages of magnificence, tawdriness and decay; the remains of sewers which, built of solid blocks of stone and large enough to admit a donkey, show that formerly a scheme of drainage and sanitation existed although to-day there is nothing of the kind; an insignificant ca.n.a.l and a hill rumoured to be made of coal heaped there as a supply in case of siege; and one has seen the architectural wonders of the capital.

"Legation Quarter" prior to the Boxer troubles was but an indefinite area of the city in which the legations "happened" from time to time amongst a squalid entourage of native buildings, and connected one with another by means of impossible thoroughfares which pa.s.sed for streets.

A Russian diplomat once said to me that he considered Peking "dirty but nice," and this description exactly coincides with my own idea.

This wasted body on a majestic frame carries one back with a single step to civilisation of a thousand years ago. Not the remnants displayed to tourists in Greece or Rome but the real thing, over which the Western spirit of change has as yet worked but little alteration.

In this vast museum of antiquities one finds at every turn objects of engrossing interest, and personally it seemed to me that many of the scenes depicted in Prescott's enchanting book, _The Conquest of Mexico_, might almost as well have been laid in this far-famed capital of the North. Great antiquity, isolation from the Western world, pride of race and empire, veneration for their own colossal literature, arrested civilisation and profound contempt for all things foreign, create a picture rich in detail, very mournful in subject and marvellous in perspective.

The means of getting about are by cart, on horseback or afoot, the sedan chair, which in other places furnishes the most comfortable conveyance, being here reserved for members of the Imperial family and for high officials both native and foreign.

The carts, which ply for hire like cabs, are ma.s.sive, springless tumbrils covered with a wain. In fine weather the pa.s.senger, with a view to less discomfort, usually sits on the splashboard with his back rubbing against the hind-quarters of the pony or mule and his feet dangling in front of the wheel, which plays on to them a continuous stream of dirt and dust. In windy weather one must crawl inside and sit on the floor tailor fashion, there being no seat, and then let down the curtain, thus effectually blocking all view but keeping out most of the dust, which, flying in blinding clouds, would quickly reduce one to a state of absolute filth, filling the clothes, hair, ears and mouth and guttering down from the nose and eyes. To this foul dust is due the terrible amount of ophthalmia and consequent blindness so prevalent throughout the East.

In rainy weather carts sink up to the axle in black liquid mud, which flies in all directions from the wheels, and at each footfall of horse or mule, splattering pedestrians and shop-fronts on the sidewalks and smothering other vehicles as they pa.s.s.

To such an indescribable state are the streets reduced by heavy rains that I actually remember a mule being drowned in the shafts by the side of one of the main thoroughfares in the very heart of the city.

Luckily for all concerned there is a large percentage of beautiful weather, when mud and dust alike are absent and when one can canter noiselessly along the soft, yielding roads, which are then in much the same condition for riding as is Rotten Row.

On such mornings as these Peking is delightful, with its bright sun, cool, bracing air and interesting sights, while through the cloudless sky flocks of pigeons, having whistles of wood or clay fastened to their feet and tails, make strange yet pleasing sounds varied with every twist and turn of flight.

A noticeable trait of Chinese character, and one fostered, if not generated, by Buddhistic teaching, is an undemonstrative fondness for animals, or, I might rather say, a pa.s.sive admission of their right to considerate treatment, and strangely enough animals, both wild and domesticated, appear to comprehend this sentiment, for while greatly scared at the approach of a European they usually take but little heed of the presence of Chinese.

It is a common thing to see a well-dressed Chinaman sauntering along holding up a bent stick to which a bird is attached by a string some four feet or so in length, so that the little prisoner can make short flights to the limit of its tether and return again to its perch, gaily chirping and singing the while.

Another stroller will be carrying a wicker bird-cage on the hand, bent back and upraised to the shoulder, much as a waiter carries dishes, containing generally a Tientsin lark or other celebrated songster, and on arriving at some open spot will place the cage on the ground, and retiring to a short distance whistle to the bird, which will shortly burst into song, to the evident delight of both owner and bystanders.

Outside one of the gateways is a kind of bazaar, which we foreigners generally called "Bird-cage walk," for there the bird-fanciers lived, and birds of many different kinds were exposed for sale, not in cages, but quite tame, and quietly sitting on perches--parrots, larks, Java sparrows, etc., some of them tied by the leg, but not all.

Here, too, were to be seen wicker baskets, much resembling orange crates, full of common sparrows, representing a regular supply for a regular demand. Benevolent old Chinamen, _flaneurs_ and _literati_ would visit this bazaar of an afternoon with the sole object of buying a few of these little birds for two or three cash each and then letting them fly away, a beatific smile betraying the salve to inward feelings generated by a knowledge of merit acquired, any miseries inflicted on the sparrows by capture and confinement counting for nothing in the balance against the good work accomplished by their purchase and release.