The face of China

We reached Peking after dark, which was fortunate, as the glamour of all one’s youthful dreams was not at once dispelled by being brought face to face with the prosaic European Legations which lie just within the gates. At the railway station, which is close to the great gate leading to the Summer Palace, we emerged into a shouting, jostling Chinese crowd, and were put into rickshas by the friends—Chinese and American—who had come to meet us. Police were keeping order after a fashion most necessary, for I saw a pushing fellow seize an unlucky man who was having a dispute and fling his ricksha to the ground as if it were a dirty rag. When we and our luggage had been safely packed into a ricksha we were swiftly drawn over the most shocking roads, through the great gloomy gates, into the city. Everywhere we seemed surrounded by towering walls of vast thickness. Over the chief gateway is a large temple containing the tutelary deities, which may give some idea of this thickness. It rises tier above tier and is painted a beautiful Venetian red, and the tiles are a bright blue-green; the overhanging eaves are of carved woodwork, painted blue and green and gold. Opposite this entrance is that of the imperial palace, above which one sees its orange-coloured tiles. From the top of the wall one gets a fine view of the long approach to the palace, gateway beyond gateway, in true Chinese style, and stretching on every side an endless vista of trees and roofs of the city. Formerly this was a favourite point de vue for watching royalties when they drove out, but now no one is allowed to do this, and notice is sent to the various embassies requesting foreigners to stay indoors when the royal family is taking an airing!

From the great gate eastward, part of the wall was held during the siege by the Americans, aided by twenty British and twenty Russian soldiers. One morning they awoke to find that during the night the Chinese had built a tower on it, of about twenty feet high, overlooking them. All the next day they had to lie close under their criss-cross defences, but it was clear that unless the tower were seized the Chinese would soon be masters of the situation. Captain Myers planned its capture, inviting volunteers to help him, and naturally the twenty British soldiers responded promptly. It was arranged that the Americans and British should get round it from the outer side of the wall, and the Russians join them from the inner side. When the time came for the plan to be carried out it was quite successful, except for the fact that no Russians took part in it, and that Captain Myers was severely wounded. As we stood listening to the story from one of the besieged we saw a touching scene in the American barracks below us. A man entered carrying home mails, and shouted out the fact. In a moment men came flying from every quarter of the hitherto empty yard with hands outstretched; one could almost see the throb of delight with which the letters were seized. But this was in time of peace, and we could but dimly realise what far greater excitement was caused by the arrival of a messenger from Tientsin during the siege, after the sickening suspense of hope deferred. How deadly must have been the disappointment when the brief message ran that help was coming, but not a word as to when, merely the egoistic remark that in Tientsin they also had been besieged!

My sketch is taken on the top of the wall, and shows the part held by the Americans: it extends from the spot where I was standing as far as the building over the great gate, and the embassies are close below the wall on the right-hand side.

The accounts of the siege which we heard from all those who had lived through it agreed in one respect—the singular defencelessness of the besieged, and the ease with which they might have been wiped out—leading one to conceive the probability of what a Chinese resident told me, that their commander-in-chief determined that this should not be done. The time that followed the siege seems to have been really in many ways worse than the siege itself for those who remained in Peking.

Far the most impressive monument here is the altar of Heaven, which lies at a short distance outside the inner city in an ancient park, surrounded by a high wall. Passing through a simple doorway, you drive in your ricksha up an avenue of acacias for a short distance till you come to another wall, and here you must get out before entering the inner park. The trees were already beginning to look autumnal (November) as we made our way across the coarse grass into another high-walled enclosure, surrounded by a moat; we had to knock for admittance to a large courtyard, where the Emperor spends the night once a year before offering the great national sacrifice to Heaven. All the roofs of the buildings round the courtyard were of brilliant green tiles, and contrasted beautifully with the marble terrace, balustrades, and bridges. From here the Emperor goes at 5.30 A.M., accompanied by his courtiers, to the great marble altar of Heaven, about one-fifth of a mile distant across the park. Fine stone pylons lead to the altar, but the paths are overgrown with grass, and there is a look of desolation brooding over the place. The altar is a high circular platform of marble, with three short flights of steps leading up from each of the four points of the compass. The Emperor ascends these steps, accompanied by his courtiers, but only those over seventy years of age may go up the top flight and remain with him while he kneels in the centre, under the vault of Heaven, to offer his sacrificial prayer. No spectator is ever allowed to be present. At the foot of the steps the sacrifice is offered, but the Emperor is no longer obliged to slay the bullock himself, as in the old days. This act is delegated to a high official. The sacrificial beasts are reared and kept in the surrounding park. Twelve bales of cloth are burnt in great braziers as an offering to Heaven; they are placed at short distances from one another, and each time there is a new emperor a new brazier is erected. Everything is round, as being emblematic of Heaven, while in the temple to Earth everything is square, because the earth is supposed to be square, and in the latter the sacrifices are buried instead of being burnt, so that they may go down instead of up!

Close to the altar of Heaven is a small round enclosure containing a temple roofed with gorgeous lapis-lazuli blue tiles, like the adjoining temple of Heaven, which is erected on a marble platform exactly similar to the altar of Heaven.

There are two particularly fine Buddhist temples at Peking, one outside and the other inside the walls, the former being a monastic establishment and swarming with degraded-looking monks. It has the imperial double-storied roofs of a noble orange colour, and it was a picturesque sight to see the orange-robed monks trooping into the courtyard to evening prayer. There were many young boys amongst them, probably sent from Manchuria as a thank-offering for the recovery of a father from severe illness, and consequently doomed to a life of idleness and ignorance. The Buddhist monks are notorious in this city for their low morals, and the signs of it are unmistakably stamped upon their faces; they do no work of any kind, and live upon the alms given by worshippers or which they have begged, according to the rules of the order. It is comic to see the Buddhist monks strutting along under huge orange umbrellas, nose in air, followed by a servant carrying the compulsory begging bowl! The head of the monastery is an incarnate Buddha. In the chief temple of this monastery is a gigantic standing figure of Buddha, and you can go up a staircase to inspect the head, which is otherwise hardly visible in the gloom of the lofty building, whose only light comes from the doorway. In the smaller buildings are other Buddhas of various kinds, and the Bodhisattwa, the 1000-handed goddess Kwanyin.

In the Lama temple, three miles outside the city, there are figures of the goddess of mercy, beside the three seated Buddhas, and she is to be found in many of the temples. She was originally a man, but had the heart of a woman! Here we were dreadfully pestered by dirty children, whom the priest tried ineffectually to keep in order. Each courtyard we came to had to be unlocked, but he always let them pass through with us, clamouring for money. The great feature of the yellow temple is a marble monument to the memory of a lama who came from Tibet and died of smallpox. It is composed of white marble, and the centre has a fine series of carvings round it illustrating scenes from the life of the Buddha. Unfortunately, after the siege of Peking French soldiers were quartered here, and they are said to have amused themselves by knocking off the head of every single figure. The effect of the white marble and gold in the midst of hoary cypresses is very fine. This is where the Dalai Lama was lodged during his stay in Peking.7 It must have been a picturesque scene on his arrival, when he entered the sacred precincts, passing between two long rows of yellow-clad monks. Would that we had been there to see it, instead of at such a dreary season! We had come in the face of considerable difficulties, but it was well worth while; the wind blowing when we started in rickshas soon developed into a typical Chili dust-storm, and soon after leaving the city the men declared they could go no further. Having no other chance of visiting the place, we determined not to be baulked and set out on foot. We struggled bravely forward through stinging, blinding dust till we got under the lee of its high wall. The return journey was not so bad, as the wind was behind us, and we could enjoy watching other passengers whom we met in the city lying as flat as they could in rickshas, and with handkerchiefs spread over their faces. We were almost unrecognisable when we got in, and it was a well-nigh hopeless task to get rid of the dust from hair and clothes.

For once a Chinese cart seemed a desirable thing, and we were glad to find one waiting to take us to a Chinese friend’s house, where we were to spend the remainder of our time at Peking. The streets are broad and fairly well policed, but their roughness is extraordinary, and when you sit cross-legged in the place of honour at the back of a springless cart you are tossed from side to side like a ball, and your head bumped unmercifully, till you have learned how to avoid it. You get much more exercise than if you walk; the only compensation is that you know you are doing the correct thing. Our host, who is a successful young doctor, explained that he was obliged to go in a cart to visit high-class patients, instead of on his bicycle, though it took up a great deal more time.

We were glad to have a Chinaman to take us shopping, for our mouths watered to see the attractive things in the native shops. The minute that a European enters, up go the prices to at least double, if not treble; so we had an amusing but not very successful time in them. Our kind host could not bear to see us being cheated, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I persuaded him to get me a black spotted leopard-skin coat lined with lovely blue silk, on which I had set my heart, as the shopman refused to come down to what he considered a reasonable price. He begged us to let him in future get what we wanted and have the things brought to his house for inspection: the main difficulty lay in the fact that we did not know what we wanted, for the most part; but about one thing I had no doubt, and that was specimens of the noted nail paintings. There was only one celebrated artist, and he was about to retire to his native province of Szechwan, but by great good luck we secured a book containing nine paintings done with the finger-nail, and two white silk scrolls. The designs are excellent, and it is difficult to see any difference from that of a brush in execution. The book is bound in Chinese style, simply between two wooden boards, with a plain band of gold running down one side for about three-quarters of its length, but no title on it.

A comparison between Chinese and Japanese art shows plainly their close connection, and if the Japanese excel in certain qualities, they have not the virility which characterises the Chinese, from whom all their art is derived. It was towards the close of the fourth century A.D. that a systematic criticism of art and a history of painters was begun in China. The canons of pictorial art were laid down, and it will help us to understand and appreciate Chinese art better if we remember that the first and most important of their six canons is “the Life movement of the Spirit through the Rhythm of Things.” Though their art is mainly decorative, it possesses marvellous vitality and poetic imagination. At the Chinese Court there were fifteen artists in attendance, ready to depict anything that the Dowager Empress might wish to have painted.

A distinguished lady, closely allied to the Empress, kindly gave me a sitting one morning; but as she was at the time exempted from attendance at Court on account of ill-health, she was unable to wear full dress—namely, the large Manchu coiffure—which is so heavy that the Empress decided to allow it to be replaced by large black satin bows. It is difficult to fasten the framework securely to the head, over which the hair is arranged, so the coiffure is usually made with false hair, and it is funny to see withered old hags in the streets wearing these, with a large flower stuck jauntily at the side. I found my sitter a very difficult one to paint, as she was heavily painted (in a different sense), and the square scarlet under-lip and absence of line in the upper eyelid gave a wooden expression to the whole face, which was unusually large, and surmounted by a perfect flower-bed. It would have been easier to express the dignity of her carriage had she been standing, but although she offered to do so, I felt it was impossible to take advantage of her good-nature when I knew she was ill. Her hands were slender and beautifully shaped, but she wore no rings; her feet were very small and shod in artistically embroidered Manchu shoes with white soles—nearly two inches thick (the Manchus never bind their feet). Unfortunately, the handsome heliotrope gown and short jacket were trimmed with European braid, and owing to the cold weather they were wadded, which lends a clumsy appearance to the whole figure. Her charming little black pug belongs to the celebrated palace breed.

It was not till after we had enjoyed tea and cakes that I was allowed to begin the portrait; and the prince came in to make our acquaintance, so that a good deal of time was taken up, and I was only able to make a hasty sketch, to be finished later on. Then the lady said we must certainly be hungry and insisted on our stopping to dinner, saying she herself was very hungry—how much more so must we be, who had worked while she did nothing. My friend protested that she had done nothing at all, being reduced to silence by her ignorance of the language, to which came the charming retort, “You will be fatigued, then, by your good intentions!” All our protests as to other engagements were overruled, and we sat down, at the other end of the room from where we had been sitting before, to a sumptuous repast, consisting of every kind of meat and vegetable, served in small pieces in innumerable little dishes. In the centre of the table there was a charming set of nine dishes, which are generally used for sweetmeats, but which our hostess had thought would be equally nice for meat—an innovation we thoroughly appreciated, as they looked so much prettier than separate ones. From these dishes we were continually helped to cold chicken, duck, sausage, pigeons, eggs, ham, and other less recognisable dainties. Round these were more dishes of hot vegetables, pickled meat and vegetable, rissoles, fried meat balls, stewed meat, cabbage and meat, &c., &c., from all of which our hostess continued to serve us with her own chopsticks, eating but little herself, according to the Chinese etiquette. We were given spoons and forks, as she shrewdly suspected our inability to wield chopsticks. Little bowls of rice were also handed round, and as soon as we stopped eating she did the same. Next came bowls of soup, each containing two eggs, and this concluded the solid part of the feast; as soon as we had retired to the other end of the room tea was brought, with preserved crab-apples, apple jam, and peanuts. Part of the dinner, we were told, was prepared by men and part by women cooks.

Before we took leave the children came in to be introduced. All the young people are learning English, and shook hands in English style—namely, with us, instead of with themselves. Many polite questions were asked as to our families, our clothes, and the price of the Viennese gown I was wearing, and my amethyst pendant. Silk is considered the only material for a handsome dress in China, and precious stones are practically unknown, jade being the only one worn.

Finally we made our adieux, accompanied to the outermost courtyard by our kind hostess; and the next day she sent me a fascinating assortment of Chinese paints, each done up separately in the neatest little parcel, containing either a bottle or a little box. We came away much impressed by the indescribable charm of Chinese manners, and many a time afterwards I felt how gauche we were in comparison. We drove away in our cart for politeness’ sake, but a short ride in it after such a feast would have had disastrous consequences, so we quickly transferred ourselves to rickshas as soon as we were out of sight of the palace.

It would be wearisome to the reader to describe all the interesting places we saw in Peking, but there is still one that I must mention—the Hall of the Classics. It is the centre of the great examination system of the past, and probably will never again have its old importance. Here the final examination took place of all the students, from every part of the vast Empire, who had succeeded in passing all other examinations. The Emperor himself presided, and received the homage of successful candidates, seated upon a handsome carved throne. Round the walls of the great court are tablets on which are inscribed the whole of the classics. The old examination system has been abolished, and already at Peking the very building where the provincial examinations were held has been destroyed.

Before leaving Peking our host introduced us to the friend whom he had found to act as our interpreter during our long journey from north-east to south-west of the Empire. Mr. Ku was a young man of official family, who had been trained at St. John’s College, Shanghai, and spoke English well. He was essentially a scholar, of gentle and amiable manners, honourable and guileless. During our five months together we never found him lacking in tact or discretion, and we were able without hesitation to place our affairs entirely in his hands. Fortunate is the traveller who likes his companions better at the end of such a journey than at the beginning!

Mr. Ku’s father had a narrow escape for his life, like many other Chinese officials, during the troubles of 1900. He was seized one day by Boxers, who prepared to kill him: when he asked why they were doing this they said it was because he was a Christian. He assured them he was not, but they refused to believe it, and it was only after repeated remonstrances that they said they would put it to the proof. This was done by means of lighting a piece of paper: if it burnt away entirely, the Boxers said that would show he was not a Christian, but if it didn’t, then he should be put to death. Happily the paper was dry and burnt up, but the Boxers, although they spared life in this case, demanded a heavy sum of money and a quantity of rice. Although the Boxers began by being patriotic fanatics, they soon turned into mere plunderers. The sketch gives the costume of a Peking Boxer, with upraised hand making a military sign; but they had no regular uniform, and merely wore red as a distinctive mark.

We only spent six days at Peking, as we felt we must hurry on, much as we should have liked to spend weeks there instead of days.