Part 14

Saurin and I had a visit from Mr. Thomas the day before yesterday. He is famous in China as the converse of St. Matthew, having left the Church to go to the Customs. Mr. Thomas is a linguist of some pretensions. He speaks several European languages (including Russian), Chinese, Japanese, and Mongol. He came out about two years ago as a member of one of the Missionary Societies, but quarrelled with his brother missionaries because he had the good sense to refuse to preach in Chinese after being three months in the country. He then entered the Chinese Customs service, and was stationed at Chihfu when I passed by there in May last. However, he has now returned to the flock, and is living with the other missionaries at Peking. Mr. Thomas has just returned from a trip to Corea, which he undertook for purposes of linguistic research, and we were greatly in hopes of hearing something about that _terra incognita_. While Mr. Thomas was at Chihfu he was able to be civil to two Corean merchants who had gone there to collect debts. They were Christians, and brought open letters with them from the Roman Catholic mission at Saoul, the capital of Corea, entreating any Christians whom they might fall in with to treat them kindly. Mr. Thomas took them to live with him, and commenced studying Corean under their auspices. When they were about to return to their own country Mr. Thomas accompanied them. He appears, however, to have seen little or nothing. His landings were but for short walks, principally on islands along the coast. He reached a point of the coast 25 miles from Saoul, to which he intended to have gone in the disguise of a Corean in mourning for his father and mother, the face completely covered by a long veil, loose white clothes hiding the body, the costume being completed by a hat with a brim about a yard and a half in diameter. The wreck of his Corean junk prevented his effecting his purpose (possibly luckily for him), and he was obliged to return to China in a Chinese junk; so he underwent incredible hardships from hunger and dirt, and great danger from shipwreck, to little purpose; what he acquired of the language must have been through his two friends, and he can give no account of the people, who must be a curious race. Not only are they so exclusive that they forbid foreigners to enter their country, but they prevent their own people from leaving it, as the Japanese did; only certain privileged persons are allowed to come to China with tribute to the Emperor or for trading purposes. There are plenty of these in Peking at the present moment; they are distinguished by their high hats and peculiar type; any Corean not belonging to this guild who left his country would be decapitated on his return. It is strange that, notwithstanding this rigid exclusiveness, the Roman Catholic missionaries seem to live undisturbed at Saoul, where they are said to have made many converts. They are obliged, however, to wear the Corean mourning so as to hide their faces, and conform to the habits of the country.[11]

The most important part of Mr. Thomas’ tale is a report that 250 Coreans have gone over the Amoor, and tendered allegiance to the Russians. Of course Russia will have Corea sooner or later, but I think that if this report were true we must have heard of it from other sources.[12]

LETTER XXI

PEKING, _3rd February 1866_.

The mail day has come round again very quickly, so I am in hopes that you are getting letters more regularly than I had led you to expect. If the wonderfully warm weather we are enjoying now lasts, the river must break up soon, and then we shall have regular mails again. On the 30th of January the thermometer stood at 40° Fahrenheit at midnight. The Chinese are in great glee; after having consumed infinite amounts of joss-stick in praying for snow, and sent out princes of the blood to shiver in distant temples, and all in vain, the Emperor went out one morning to pray on his own account, and on that very morning the snow came. We took advantage of what has turned out to be the last of the frost, for the present at least, to make an expedition to Yuen-Ming-Yuen and skate on the lake. It was such a bright, pretty scene—the lake was as clear as a sheet of glass, and the ice perfectly transparent—not very good for skating, though, for the lotus plants do not quite lie down. However, every now and then we came upon a hundred yards square of marvellous ice, uncut by skates and free from dust. A number of Chinese came to look at us; figure-skating astonished them immensely, especially anything done going backwards. Some of the natives skate after a fashion, but they are generally contented with tying a skate on to one foot and pushing themselves along with the other. It is said that skating used to form part of the Manchu bannermen’s drill. We picnicked in one of the little pavilions in the garden, and very jolly we were.

I went a few days ago, for the first time, to visit the Russian missionary establishment (the head of which is the Archimandrite Palladius), in the north-east corner of the Tartar city. It is surrounded by a large open space; the air is fresh; there is no dust, and above all there is immediate egress into the country without having to cross miles of filthy streets. It is such a pity that the Legations were not established up there in 1861. The mission consists of three priests besides the chief; there is a day-school for twenty-four children, whose parents are all Christians; indeed, the Archimandrite told me that the neighbouring population were almost all converts. The Russians have altogether a large congregation here, an important element in which are the Albazines. The Albazines were originally a small colony of Russian labourers, who settled at the little town of Albazin on the Amoor. In the time of Alexis, father of Peter the Great, the Chinese made war upon this little colony, and after a desperate resistance on their part, which lasted about two years, conquered them and took prisoners those whom they did not kill. On account of the great bravery which they had shown, the survivors were carried to Peking and made to serve as soldiers. Here they have lived to the present time, having become Chinese in everything save in the matter of their religion, which they have faithfully preserved. From father to son they have been forced to serve as soldiers, and allowed to select no other career. It is only recently that a decree has been issued emancipating them from this rule, and permitting them to follow trade, labour, or letters. There are probably not more than ten or fifteen pure Albazine families left; but as they have intermarried freely with the Chinese and Christianised their women, they largely swell the Greek congregation. The carrying off of people on both frontiers has been an old standing quarrel between China and Russia. It was to settle questions of this sort that Peter the Great sent an embassy to the Emperor Ka̔ng-Hsi. This embassy was the foundation of the two Russian missions, that of the south being the present Legation, and that of the north the Church mission. The southern mission was used by the merchants of the caravans which used to arrive from Siberia once in three years, to transact business between the two countries; it has been recently rebuilt, all except the chapel, which dates from Peter’s time, and which still bears the marks of an earthquake which occurred in the middle of the last century. The Archimandrite told me that when he first came to Peking twenty-five years ago there was no more difficulty in holding intercourse with the people than there is at present. The priests of the mission could not go beyond the Great Wall in one direction, nor as far as Tientsing in the other; but this was owing to the mandarins, who always were, and probably always will be, obstructive. The people were friendly enough; those who did not know them, seeing strangely dressed figures with fair beards and hair for the first time, took them for Manchu Tartars; so even now it often happens that we Europeans are taken for Mongols by the Chinese who have seen neither race.

I was talking the other day to my teacher about Lord Palmerston and his wonderful strength of body and mind. He was greatly interested, and cited two instances in Chinese history of statesmen who were flourishing and vigorous after eighty years of age. The first case he mentioned was that of the minister Liang, who, in the reign of the Empress Wu-Tseih-Ti̔en of the Tang dynasty (seventh century A.D.), obtained the highest literary degree, and became premier at the age of eighty-two. The second case he cited was more legendary.

Wên Wang, father of Wu Wang, the first Emperor of the Chou dynasty (and a contemporary of Saul, King of Israel), dreamt a dream, and in his dream he saw a beast that was like a boar and yet like a man, and it had wings and flew. Now when he awoke he was sorely troubled in his heart, because he could not read the meaning of his dream; so he sent for the court seer, and the court seer told him that the interpretation of his dream was, that he should have a wise and crafty councillor. When Wên Wang heard this, he immediately sallied forth in his chariot to seek for this wise man, and he took with him his two sons. After many days he came to a river called Wei-Shui-Ho, and by the side of the river was an old man fishing. The name of this old man was Tai Kung, and during the reign of the wicked Emperor Chou-Hsin he had lived in a cave in a mountain, cultivating learning. When Wên Wang saw the old man he told his sons to descend from the chariot and ask him the road. But the old man went on with his fishing, and answered them, saying, “Behold the little fishes have come to me, but the big fish stops away.” Now when this oracular answer was told to Wên Wang he immediately knew that this must be the wise man that was promised to him in his dream, for the old man’s saying was a reproach to him that he had not himself gone down, as manners required, but sent his sons instead. So Wên Wang invited Tai Kung to get into his chariot, and he carried him off and made him his chief minister. At that time Tai Kung was eighty years old and more. When Wên Wang died Wu Wang treated Tai Kung with the honours due to a father, for it was by his wise counsels that the dynasty became strengthened in the kingdom. He lived to nearly a hundred years of age, and at his death he became a spirit, and many say that he is now the captain of all the spirits, and assigns to each his particular place and duties.

The above is a word for word translation of the story of Tai Kung as my teacher told it me.

LETTER XXII

PEKING, _8th February 1866_.

I expect this will reach England with the bag that was despatched last Saturday; at any rate it will give you a few days later news; I have but little to say.

The student interpreters gave a second theatrical representation on Monday. The pieces were “Our Wife” and “To Paris and back for £5.” To my mind the most amusing part of the entertainment was to watch the faces of the Chinese servants at the back, who, not understanding a word, were deeply interested in the performance, and said that it was very beautiful, especially the first piece, in which the makeshifts for Louis XIII. dresses charmed them much. The ladies stood on an average 5 feet 10 inches in their stockings, and had blue marks where whiskers and beards had been shaved off in the morning; but in spite of all drawbacks, everybody agreed that there never had been and never could be such a success—which has always been said of every private performance I ever witnessed.

No one could believe that we are ice-bound here. Yesterday the thermometer at 2 P.M. stood at 84° in our courtyard; at eight in the morning it had been down to 22°, a difference of 62°! The Chinese complain bitterly of the heat. The Emperor was to go again to pray for snow to-day, and the _Peking Gazette_ publishes an article from one of the Imperial advisers, stating that the want of snow must be ascribed to the anger of heaven on two accounts: 1st, undue severity on the part of minor officials in the Board of Punishments; 2nd, the number of bodies killed in the rebellion and still lying unburied.

What thieves these mandarins are! Some, time ago when the Ti̔en Wang (Prince of Heaven), the chief of the Ta̔i Pi̔ng rebellion, poisoned himself, his son fled carrying with him his father’s great seal, which, on his capture, was carried to the Emperor at Peking. The seal was a huge affair of massive gold with two dragons on the top. Its value was about £600. When the Emperor had seen it, it was handed over to the Prince of Kung and the Grand Council, and by them deposited under lock and key in the council office, the watching of which by night is confided to certain high officials. When the turn of night duty fell to one Sa, a man of good family and a mandarin of the fourth button, the seal was missing. There was a great hue and cry, and all the wretched servants in the office were carried off to the Board of Punishments, where they were tortured _secundum artem_, the real thief Sa being quite above suspicion. Meanwhile he carried off the seal to a goldsmith’s shop in the Chinese city, telling him that he had received orders from the palace to have it melted down. The man undertook the job and put the seal into the melting-pot; but the two dragons, being harder than the rest of the metal, would not melt, so they were put on one side to wait till a hotter fire could be prepared. As luck would have it a friend of the goldsmith, who had heard of the loss of the seal, came in, and seeing the two dragons, smelt a rat, and laid an information. Sa was tried, found guilty, and strangled in the vegetable market. He was a well-to-do man, and his family were rich people, so the money was not needed. But a little peculation, however small, is dear to a mandarin’s heart.

Sa was not a master of his craft; he had not sufficiently considered the eleventh commandment,—most important to a Chinese official.

LETTER XXIII

PEKING, _7th March 1866_.

My last letter to you was dated 8th February, on which day the festivities of the Chinese New Year began with the feast of Tsao, the god of the hearth. This, of course, is inaugurated with popping of fireworks and banging of cannon. Tsao is of all the spirits the one most intimately connected with the family, and every year, eight days before the New Year, he goes to heaven to make his report. Now as in every family there must always be some little secrets which it is not desirable should be known in heaven, it is essential that something should be done to prevent Tsao’s tongue from wagging too freely, so offerings are made to him of barley-sugar, that his mouth may be sticky! At the same time, upon either side of his niche, which stands in the kitchen, are pasted posters of red paper, the one bearing the words “Go to heaven and make a good report,” the other “Come back to your palace and bring good luck.” The niche is then burnt, and the god rises to heaven to come back on New Year’s Day, against which time a new niche is prepared for him.

As the New Year approaches, the principal amusement in the streets is flying kites. These are admirably made, and represent all manner of birds, beasts, and fishes. There are some which even represent centipedes, but I have not seen those. In the tail of the kite is placed a sort of Æolian harp, such as I once told you the Chinese attach to their pigeons. I cannot tell you what a strange effect these weird-looking monsters humming high up in the air present. The Street of Lanterns, too, begins to make a great show. Lamps of every variety of shape, from a bouquet of flowers to a fiery dragon, are exposed for sale and bought in quantities.

On New Year’s Eve the houses are cleaned up and put in order. Characters of good omen are pasted on all the door-posts; from the window-sills little strips of red paper stamped like lace flutter in the wind. An altar is erected in the courtyard with candles and offerings, while crackers and fireworks are let off all night to chase away all the evil Spirits that have been about during the year, and especially the Spirit of Poverty.

The 15th of February was the Chinese New Year’s Day. It was a bright, fine day, and the people were all figged out in the best raiment available, either from their own wardrobes or those of the pawnbrokers, whose chests must have been emptied of every article of smart clothing for the occasion. All the shops were shut, but not empty; for from many of them there issued the most infernal clatter that ever stunned human ears. I looked into one, my curiosity getting the better of my manners, and there I saw a number of respectable middle-aged _bourgeois_ sitting in a circle, and each with a clapper, gong, cymbals, or drum, beating for dear life with the gravest of faces. This was exorcising devils, and, if devils have ears, ought to be a successful plan. The streets are full of people paying complimentary visits to their friends, a ceremony which is nowhere so universally observed as in China. Outside the Chien Mên, one of the gates leading from the Tartar into the Chinese city, is a small yellow-tiled Imperial temple to Kwan-Ti, the god of war. This is crowded with worshippers on New Year’s Day. High and low flock to pay their respects and draw their lot for the year. Outside the temple were a couple of priests doing a brisk trade in tracts and joss-sticks. Armed with a bundle of the latter, which are whisked about in flames, to the great peril of European beards, the devout advance and perform the ko̔to̔u before the altar with three kneelings and nine knockings of the head. They then draw nearer to the altar, and from a sort of cup which stands upon it draw at random a slip of bamboo with certain characters upon it. This is exchanged according to its inscription for a piece of paper which is handed to the votary for a few cash by an attendant priest, and which contains his fortune for the year. The people who took part in this ceremony were excessively devout in their demeanour; there was no symptom of levity or indifference; they were imploring the protection of a divine being for the coming year, with superstition if not with piety. The richer worshippers were making offerings of pigs and sheep as sacrifice.

I don’t recollect whether I ever mentioned to you the Liu Li Chang, a street of booksellers and curiosity shops, and one of my favourite lounges here. It is one of the lions of the New Year. A very amusing fair is held there. It is perfectly thronged with people, and a very gay scene. Toys and artificial flowers are the best things sold; some of the former are capital. Lifelike models of insects, tiny beasts and birds, tops, kites of all shapes, and above all some little figures of European soldiers and sailors—caricatures of the late war—that were irresistibly comic. One man was selling a capital toy—two little figures, jointed, and so contrived that by pulling a horsehair which is not seen they begin to fight and go through every motion of desperate wrestling. There were some jugglers, but rather a low lot. One man was having bricks smashed on his head—a somewhat alarming performance, for which, however, he seemed none the worse. Then there was a combat between sword and spear, after the manner of Savile House in old days, which ended in sword getting a kick in the stomach and a poke in the ribs, which well earned a sixpence. A peep-show represented views taken in China and Europe, of which the exhibitor was as ignorant as his audience: he described St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Bay of Naples as places of repute in the Lew Chew Islands; and I really should be ashamed to tell you what was painted on the reverse of the view of St. Paul’s. A temple of the Chinese Æsculapius in one corner of the fair was crowded with visitors, who were pressing round the stall of a venerable gentleman whose stock-in-trade was a bushel or two of teeth and a picture representing the treatment of every variety of disease in diagrams. The teeth he had extracted were mostly sound! Fortune-tellers were casting up chances, and wise men reading destinies in all the courts, which were piled high with votive tablets from grateful patients. As to the walls, the tablets on them were three deep. The crowd were uniformly civil to us, but oh, the garlic of them! It was high jinks for the beggars, who were more than usually offensive and pertinacious, especially the women with sick babies, who would insist on wishing one a Happy New Year in every key. It’s no use being pitiful, for if you give to one you will have a tail of a hundred at your heels.

The New Year’s festivities last for a fortnight or so; it is an endless succession of feasting and fireworks until the Feast of Lanterns, twelve days after New Year’s Day. The latter is quite a bright scene with all the lanterns and transparencies, but it sounds much more than it is.