Part 9

By the bye, in my last letter I spoke about Chinese doctors and prescriptions, and their doctrine of the hot and cold influences. My teacher has been telling me about their principles of diagnosis. It appears that they attach great importance to examining the tongue. Now if the tongue is white the patient is under the cold influence. If it is yellow, he is under the hot influence. If the centre of the tongue is white, and the edges yellow, he is under the cold influence inside, and his skin is under the hot—and so _vice versa_. Palmistry and the study of the face and features are also brought to bear upon medicine—certain conditions of feature portend certain events in the future. My teacher told me that he feared he should not be long-lived, because the lobe of his ear was small—a large lobe to the ear is much admired on all accounts, but specially as a sign of wisdom, and Buddha and the other idols are represented with huge appendages. A soft hand is the sign of longevity; the eyes, nose and nostrils, and chin, all have certain prophetic meanings to those who are wise to read them. I told my teacher about phrenology—he was delighted with the idea, and stood open-mouthed while his bumps were being felt. His character, however, did not interest him much, but he was very anxious to know how long he would live, and whether he would hold an office of any kind.

We have no news.

LETTER XI

PEKING, _7th August 1865_.

The extreme heat has left us at last, and the autumn has set in—a most charming season in this climate. It is a regular second spring—not such a spring as we are used to in England, which is a struggle for mastery between hot sun and chilling east winds, but a season in which the burnt-up vegetation literally _springs_ into life again under the influence of quickening rain and warmth—the trees put forth shoots and tender green leaves, and the plain is one rich field of millet twelve feet high, through which one rides feeling like Gulliver in the farms of Brobdingnag. The rains have driven us out of our temple at the hills, which I much regret, but it had become untenable lately owing to damp; the scorpions, too, began to come into the house in too great numbers to be pleasant; five were killed in my room in two days, besides other creeping things. There were quantities of lizards also in my house. The Chinese have an idea that lizards, which they call scorpion-tigers, kill the scorpions by making them commit suicide in this wise: the lizard touches the scorpion on the back with his tail, the creature strikes at him, but the enemy is too quick, and he stings himself instead; this is repeated until the lizard sees that the scorpion’s poison is exhausted, when he goes at him at once and eats him. We rather exploded this theory, for we caught two scorpions and two lizards, and put them in a box with a glass cover, and the only result was that the large scorpion ate the smaller, continuing his cannibal feast during ten hours, and leaving nothing of him but the tip of his tail; so we let the lizards go and killed the scorpion, whom Shao-To, our head man, considered to have become doubly venomous as he must have the poison of two in him.

Before leaving the hills we took a great walk over all the summits in order to get a thorough idea of the country around. It looks as if the sea, now about 100 miles off, must once have washed the foot of the mountains, forming bays, promontories, and headlands into the plain, which has the same appearance of being alluvial as that of Troy. The numberless watercourses which intersect it show that formerly there must have been a far greater flow of water towards the sea than is ever seen now, even in the rainiest season. From the highest peak we had a magnificent view of Peking, Yuen-Ming-Yuen, and the villages around, and behind us was another range of mountains, more wild, more rugged and picturesque than that on which we stood. It was raining slightly, and as we watched there came on one of the strangest atmospheric effects I ever saw. Between us and Peking there was a faint mist, while over the city itself a heavy cloud was hanging, partly black and

## partly lurid, with a sort of hellish glare about it that was perfectly

indescribable. All around us there was a deep blue gloom; it was such a scene as Lot’s wife may have looked upon.

We rode into town the day before yesterday, and made a circuit so as to take Yuen-Ming-Yuen, the famous summer palace, on our way. It was a new road to me, and a very pleasant one. We passed several Chinese villages, principally composed of soldiers’ barracks, like elongated cow-sheds, and one very pretty prosperous-looking little city. As we drew near the Imperial grounds the scenery became prettier and prettier; above all there were shady groves, which were doubly delightful for the scorching morning sun that was blazing upon us. Quaint stone and marble bridges were thrown over the dykes and water-channels, and little gables of pagodas, charged with the inevitable tile gurgoyles, peeped out of the woods at intervals.

Yuen-Ming-Yuen (“the round bright garden”) is one of three parks containing Imperial palaces, two of which were destroyed in 1860. Some of the more out-of-the-way buildings in the third escaped notice and destruction. The name Yuen-Ming-Yuen has been wrongly given by Europeans to the whole, and still more wrongly to the only one of the three parks (the third park is called Yu-Chuan-Shan, or the “Hill of the Fountain of Jewels”) that can be seen, and which we visited. The proper name of this is Wan-Shao-Shan, the “Hill of the Ten Thousand Longevities,” which is a figure of speech for the fête day of the Emperor or Empress. Of course it is against the orders of the Chinese authorities that this is shown, but the guardians of the place make a good profit out of it, and if they were caught they would always be ready with the excuse that “the barbarians forced their way in and would not be kept out.”

We were ushered through a number of courtyards, where there was nothing to be seen but ruined and charred walls, and the ghosts of departed pine-trees, and along a pretty covered walk to a pavilion by the lake where we were to breakfast. It was a lovely spot. The lake is a mass of lotus plants now in full flower; there are quantities of little islands covered with trees and buildings. A number of boats with naked fishermen in them gave a touch of wildness and barbarity to the scene, and further added to our amusement; for one of the men, in the hopes of finding Heaven knows what small loot among the masses of rubbish where there is not so much as a tile left whole, had come on shore and was lying hidden among the ruins; whom when the guardians perceived, they set up such a game of hare and hounds, and such a throwing of stones and bad language, as reminded me of Eton days when a boy from another house was found in my dame’s without being able to give a good account of himself. When the brave men returned all panting and out of breath, they were very proud of themselves, and told us the story with much vigour and dramatic action, for it was a very valiant deed, as they were only three to one, “with power to add to their number.”

There is nothing like a Chinese servant for a picnic or expedition of any kind, under whatever difficulties he may be placed. Shao-To never lets us lack for anything. Even Dan, the pointer puppy, had his usual mess of rice and broth, as if he had been at home. When we had breakfasted, with an admiring crowd around us, we went to explore the ruins. It is difficult to form any idea of what the palace must have been like, so complete has the work of destruction been. We scrambled up and down steep steps (that must have been hard work for the poor little cramped feet that trod them) and along terraces where the wild vines and creepers, and sweet-scented weeds, now grow in tangled masses; there is not a stone that has not been split by the action of the fire. Two colossal marble kylins, of rare workmanship, are seared with cracks, and have almost fallen away in flakes. Of the great octagonal three-storied palace, not one stone lies on another, and a white marble balustrade alone shows where it stood. Higher up there are still a few remains untouched by fire. There is a little bronze temple, a perfect gem, which of course escaped, and two little revolving wooden pagodas full of small gods and images standing in a tower were also preserved; whilst above all a larger temple, built entirely of the yellow and green tiles I have so often described to you, shows what a blaze of glory the place must once have been. But that glory has passed away now, and so rapidly does ruin work in this climate, that soon even the little that remains to-day will perish. There is one very curious device thoroughly Chinese that I must mention. At the end of the terrace by the lake a sort of jetty stands out, built of huge blocks of stone, in the shape of a junk being launched into the lake, forty-one paces long by nine broad. Some of the rockwork is very quaint. When the Chinese come upon a quaintly-shaped rock or stone they mount it on a pedestal and make an ornament of it. There are many very curious specimens at Wan-Shao-Shan.

With regard to the destruction of the summer palace, I believe that, politically speaking, it was a mistake. It was necessary that some great reprisal should be made for the outrages committed by the Chinese; but the destruction should have taken place inside the city, and not twelve miles off; for so ignorant are the large body of the Chinese of what passes outside their four walls, that there are many here in Peking who to this day believe that we had to pay an indemnity for leave to withdraw our troops, and that we are only here on sufferance. If this is the case in Peking, in the provinces people must be still further from the truth, and it is the policy of the Government to keep up the delusion. Had the Imperial palace in Peking been destroyed the matter would have been notorious to all, and its recollection would not have been blown away with the last cloud of smoke from Yuen-Ming-Yuen.

Here is some more Chinese doctoring which may amuse you. A boy was brought the other day to the hospital of the London Mission with slight feverish symptoms. The doctor not being at home, the boy was taken by his parents to a Chinese practitioner, who prescribed a decoction of three scorpions, to be taken internally! The boy was well next day in spite of it.

A recipe for ophthalmia, posted on the walls of Peking, runs as follows:—Take three bright brass coins of the reign of Tao Kwang, boil them in water, and use the lotion. Here is our old saw, “A hair of the dog that bit you,” worked in practice: For a dog bite, catch the dog, pull out a few of his hairs, and work them into a paste with a little lime and oil—apply the paste to the wound; of course, the lime

## acting as a caustic is the real remedy, but the hair is the one that is

believed in.

The Legation is at present giving hospitality to a certain gentleman who is accredited by a small state to make a treaty with the Chinese, as he pompously announces “dans l’intérêt de la Chine même”; if he does not talk less big at the Tsung-Li Yamên, or Foreign Office, he will find the Chinese far less tractable than he seems to think it their duty to be; for they are much too sharp to suppose that anybody comes out here to negotiate treaties in their interest without having a still keener eye upon his own; and as for themselves, of course the mandarins, at any rate, would rather return to the old state of things, have nothing to do with us and our treaties, and sacrifice the revenue that accrues to them from their customs. The pressure put upon them from abroad, and the counsels of Mr. Hart, the Chinese Inspector-General of Customs, and a very able man, alone keep them straight, and compel the central Government to assume responsibilities which they would rather leave to the provincial authorities. Fancy the difficulty of stirring up into action men whose highest idea of celestial happiness is an eternity passed in the contemplation of their own paunches, in the society of Buddha and his Lo-hans.

It is very hard upon our interpreters that they should have to do the work of other missions besides our own. These ministers of other states come up here without any staff whatever, and the whole of their business falls upon the Legation to whose good offices they may be intrusted.

LETTER XII

PEKING, _22nd August 1865_.

Since I last wrote to you we have been leading the most monotonous of lives, and no news from home has come to cheer us. We have had staying with us one of the few stray visitors that chance drives up here—a Mr. R——, an officer in the commissariat, and a very pleasant companion he was; he came fresh from Japan, and full of stories about Yokohama and Yedo, but out here we should prefer to hear about London. There really is little temptation to travellers to come here now, for, thanks to the misbehaviour of certain of our countrymen, the Chinese have shut up the principal lions of the town, and the temples of Heaven, and of Confucius, are not shown, even to members of the Legations. I for one have not been able to visit them. The great Lama Temple is still to be seen, and to any one who has not seen a Chinese temple, is a great show; but they are all very like one another, the main difference being merely a question of size. It is very provoking to be kept out of really interesting sights by the brutality of travelling bullies who will force their way into places where they have no right to go.

All we can do now for our visitors is to show them the panorama of the two cities from the walls, the top of which forms a ride or walk right round Peking, and where the wonderful observatory of the old Jesuit fathers, with its beautiful bronze instruments, still stands, and to take them through the streets and over the curio shops—braving offence given to eyes and nostrils. The curio shops especially make up an amusing day, and I am always glad of an excuse to go there. There is a bazaar, too, just inside the Chinese city, a sort of Lowther Arcade on a small scale, where toys, scents, sham jewellery, cheap embroidery, and other rubbish are sold, and which is quite worth seeing. This is greatly patronised by the Mongols, who never weary of admiring the showy trash exposed for sale. The Mongols are to the Pekingese what the Auvergnats are to the _gamins de Paris_, or a bumpkin come up to London for the cattle-show to the cabbies and ’busmen. They are the perpetual butts of jokes, sells, and cheatery, and are done at every opportunity. The bazaar leads on to the Beggar’s Bridge, with its mass of rotting humanity, a place that it makes one shudder to think of, and once past that we are well in the Chinese city. The amount of traffic is always very great, and it is no easy matter to thread one’s way through the crowd of mules, carts, horses, and footpads, and the worst of it is that one is continually hustled up against some unhappy leper, whose only clothing is dirt and sores. The neatness and nicety of the shops are a great contrast to the filth and squalor of the streets themselves. Inside everything is as clean as water can make it; outside is a dunghill, where the beggars are disputing with the dogs and pigs the right to water-melon rinds, rotten vegetables, and dead carrion. The street hawkers are a great feature; of course they all have their peculiar cries as in Europe; but in addition to this each trade has its own announcement in the shape of some instrument—one trade carries a thing like a huge Jew’s harp, another has a tiny gong, a third a drum, a fourth beats two pieces of bamboo together, and so forth. All these make a terrible clatter, and the noise is increased by the beggars, who take up a position opposite some shop—a cook-house for choice—and there make themselves odious to eyes, ears, and nostrils until its owner can stand it no longer and buys them off with a copper cash or piece of refuse food. Among Chinese street characters the _improvisatore_ is one of the foremost. He is as loud and fluent as his Italian compeer, and infinitely more energetic. He generally accompanies himself on the bones, but often has a little boy to beat a drum for him. He works himself into a regular frenzy, and jumps about like one possessed of a devil; he dances and gesticulates and raves until the sweat runs down his face; but nothing tires him, and he never halts nor pauses in his chant. These men are too nimble of speech and too slang for most foreigners to catch a word; but I suppose they are generally witty and entertaining, for they command immense audiences of gaping Chinamen, and their sallies are received with great delight. Like the Italians, when they have worked up their audience to a proper pitch of interest they stop, and refuse to go on with the story without more coppers. At the approach of the foreign barbarian some little witticism is launched _à notre adresse_. You may judge whether it is very complimentary; however, as “it amuses them and don’t hurt us,” that don’t much signify. Perhaps the hawkers whose wares are the most curious to Europeans are the men who carry about live crickets and cicadas for sale, either in tiny wooden cages or tied to bamboo rods. The Chinese buy them to any amount as pets, and some make the crickets fight like quails and game-cocks.

We are very often accosted by the more respectable class. The first salutation is always, “Have you had your dinner, sir?” which is the Chinese, “How d’ye do?” and then the conversation runs as follows:—

“Your honourable name?”

“My name is Mi. What is your honourable name?”

“My shabby name is Hwang. What are the years of your age?”

“I am twenty-eight” (great astonishment, for I pass usually for forty-five).

“How long have you been inside the walls?” (at Peking).

“About four months.”

“Do you belong to the great Ying, or the great Fa?” (English or French).

Then follow a string of the most absurd questions about England. One man asked one day whether it was true that in Europe there were men with holes through their chests and backs, whom their servants carried about by passing a bamboo pole through the hole and so hoisting them on to their shoulders. Such is the Chinese education, that one of their scholars, deeply read in ethics and Confucian books, would be capable of asking questions to the full as ridiculous as the above, which, indeed, was put by an educated man.

After the din, bustle, and dirt of the streets, it is very refreshing to go into one of the shops, where there is always the civillest welcome, even though one may buy nothing. In almost all cases the master of the house gives us delicious tea, sugarless and milkless of course, but of the most exquisite flavour. The infusion is made in a small covered bowl; I have hardly ever seen a teapot. The outer shop is for the most part only, as it were, an advertisement, and contains nothing but trash: one of the finest shops here exhibits to the street a front such as a Cheap Jack at a fair might show; but go inside, and cross a little courtyard into the inner sanctum, and you will be dazzled by the beauty of the ornaments and trinkets for sale. There is a certain black _étagère_ made of ebony, carved to represent very light bamboo stems supporting irregular niches, filled with carved lapis-lazuli, jade, cornelians, agates, and other rare stones, that I should like to carry off bodily. Every piece in the collection is a _chef-d’œuvre_. The prices are, of course, outrageous, but they come down; indeed, it is curious that a people so proverbially cunning in trade should act as they do. Supposing that they ask thirty dollars for a thing, we offer fifteen, which, at first, will be indignantly rejected; but after perhaps three months of bargaining the man will come down to our price, thus keeping himself for three months out of the interest of his money. There is some beautiful porcelain, but very dear. I have never seen any of the rose-backed plates or cups that are so much prized at home; and two or three of the dealers, whom I have asked about them, had never heard of such things. There is plenty of bad cloisonné enamel about; but the fine specimens came from Yuen-Ming-Yuen, and the Chinese were obliged to sell them off as fast as they could for fear of the law. (I take it the natives had a great hand in the looting.) I only know of two really magnificent pieces, for which the owner asks £1000! He would probably take £300, and they would be a great bargain at the price. They are two colossal covered bowls, without flaw or fault, and would look splendid at Windsor or some very great house. I have written to a friend to tell him of them.

The best chance of picking up here and there a pretty thing is in the minor shops, from which the bigger ones are recruited. There is a street called the Liu-li-chang, which swarms with old book shops (a sort of Paternoster Row) and curiosity shops, some of which are hardly more than stalls, where sometimes one may find a piece of fine porcelain, or other work of art, for an old song.

I start after to-morrow morning for Ku-Pei-Ko̔u, to see the Great Wall, and I shall return by way of the tombs of the emperors of the Ming dynasty; so at any rate I shall not have to sing the eternal refrain, “Peking is very dirty.” I shall be about eight days gone. The trip was originally to have been undertaken with the Russian Minister, but he is detained by business, so I go with Murray, and we accompany Saurin as far as Ku-Pei-Ko̔u, whence he will travel into Mongolia, and Murray and I shall come back.