FROM THE GREAT WALL TO TCHAH-TAO.
First view of China proper--Last Russian hospitality--The
Palankeen--The streets of Kalkann--Travelling along the Great
Wall--The Secret Societies--Chinese Art--How order is
maintained--Origin of the tress--How the titles of Chinese
nobility become extinct.
We were hospitably received in a Chinese house belonging to a Russian,
a friend of M. Schévélof. This house was charmingly situated out
of the town, on the other side of the brook I have just mentioned,
and, consequently, in view of the mountain we had lately descended
surmounted with the irregular outline of the Great Wall.
It was the last Russian house into which I entered, and not the least
agreeable. During my leisure in the day I went to ramble about this
strange country and among the still more strange people.
I lounged also many hours on the balcony of this house, where I took
refreshments, agreeably occupied in contemplating the scene around
me. I shall never forget these days of _far niente_ passed at Kalkann
after the long monotonous passage of the Gobi without stages and almost
without repose. I was approaching at last the goal of my travels--that
city of Pekin, towards which I had been almost daily moving for
the last seven months. I was indeed in China at last, and all my
surroundings forcibly impressed me with the novelty of my situation.
I was never tired of watching every object, every incident, from my
observatory, and when evening closed in I quitted it with regret.
Then we retired to a distant room. Wassili Michäelovitch, as well as
a young inhabitant of Tien-tsin who happened to be visiting Kalkann,
played on the guitar, and, in listening to the melancholy notes of
their melodies, I recalled to memory the far-reaching steppe of Omsk
and its changing aspects, the perilous night adventure in the snow on
leaving Tumen, the savage grandeur of the frozen Angara, the terrors of
the lonely Baikal, Mrs. Grant and Constantine--all my adventures in
Siberia,--in fact, that now, with the rigours of an Arctic winter, were
things of the past. The remembrance of all these incidents I cherished
with that genial sensation that is experienced when we find ourselves
safe at the end of a series of perilous adventures, provided they
leave behind no ill consequences, but, on the contrary, a feeling of
congratulation that we have so happily escaped them.
But what a contrast was this past to the present! It was not simply a
change of country and people, but a change of the face of nature; for
the trees had put forth their tender leaves and vied in brilliancy of
tints with the verdure of the ground, and the whole was bathed in the
genial beams of the warm spring sun.
Still it is the destiny of a traveller, who has before him a long
journey to be accomplished without delay, to be always on the move.
On the morning of the 3rd of May, therefore, we had five palanquins
brought up for our accommodation. They are a kind of litter without
wheels, furnished with two long shafts projecting before and behind and
supported by these on two mules. The mule in the rear is not put in
without some trouble, it being repugnant, apparently, to these animals
to go into the shafts head foremost; they are, therefore, generally
obliged to have their eyes bandaged during the operation.
The palanquin with mules is the most disagreeable vehicle I have ever
travelled in: in the first place the greatest care is necessary to keep
yourself quite in the middle, inasmuch as the least movement on the one
side or the other disturbs at once the adjustment of the harness. In
the second place the two mules do not step together or move in harmony,
and consequently there is a continual pitching and jolting in every
direction, producing as much sickness and distressing fatigue as the
movement of the sea.
Our host would accompany us beyond Kalkann; we, therefore, began our
journey afoot, going through the city from end to end. We went inside
the fortifications, which consist of crenulated walls very solidly
built, and from these we had a good view of the streets.
The attention is arrested at once by the swarming of the population.
The Arab bazaars, the most thronged even, can give no adequate idea
of such a circulation. The noise of all this is quite equal to the
concourse. Every shop-keeper considers it his duty to stand in front of
his shop to praise his wares. He calls out to the passer-by, to invite
him to come in and buy, and, as every one strains his voice to make
himself heard over his competitor, it may easily be imagined what a
hurly-burly would greet the ear on penetrating further into the city.
Mule drivers, palanquin leaders, mandarins’ coachmen or carriers,
scream also with all their might to have the way clear. Conjurers and
tumblers are exercising their profession all along the streets, some
violently beating their drums, others blowing their bamboo pipes with
all the vigour at their command to arrest attention. But the concert of
sounds is not yet complete; children being drubbed are squalling, and
awkward people, that cannot escape from being crushed, are screaming:
petty traders are violently quarrelling with their rivals, and then
comes the growl of the tam-tam, marking, from time to time, the hour
or the intervals on the bourse. An early morning at Billingsgate,
or at the Halles in Paris, is quite peaceable in comparison with the
obstreperous precinct of a Chinese town. Our ears were greeted with
this uproar for an hour without cessation in passing on our way from
one end to the other. M. Schévélof turned round to me many times with
a wearied look, and exclaimed: “O Mongolia! calm of the desert, how
precious thou art, and how I regret thee!” We arrived at last at the
limit of the town, passed through another gate, and were in the country
again, but Chinese country without solitude and silence. We took leave
of our host, and a quarter of an hour afterwards we were swinging in
our five palanquins, anxious to look out, but, following the advice
of Mr. Schévélof, we closed our curtains and tried to escape from
persecuting curiosity.
When night had quite closed in I opened the three windows of my
palanquin, one on the right, one on the left, and the other in front,
and was thus enabled to contemplate at my ease the magnificent scenery
amid which we were travelling.
We had entered into a narrow and precipitous ravine: it was indeed so
narrow, occasionally, that the palanquin had only just room to pass.
Massive rocks rising perpendicularly were starting on our vision on
all sides. It was clear we were now travelling along the crest of a
mountain range, for gaps suddenly appearing here and there opened to
view fearful precipices that made the head swim. The wind was blowing
violently all the evening; and clouds flitting quickly over the face of
the moon gave, through the fitful movements of light and darkness, a
most fantastic aspect to this bit of nature.
We fell in with a second wall, built also of stone like the first,
but in a better state of preservation: we travelled some distance
over this wall, and our mules sometimes approached so near the edge
that they made us tremble. The rear mule is especially disquieting to
the traveller unaccustomed to this mode of locomotion, this one being
obliged to follow blindly the leading of the other; but, unlike the
leader, unable to pick its way with the same liberty, and being drawn
along at the same time over the ground, which is hardly visible; but at
the moment the foot is ready to fall, might very easily take a false
step and draw everything with it over the precipice. In several places
the Great Wall, along the top of which we were travelling this night,
turned suddenly in its course at a right angle; and as our mules had
the detestable habit like those of the Alps to follow invariably the
edge of a precipice, it resulted that while the leader was turning
these angles the rear mule must have marched in a line which would,
if prolonged a few feet, have led over the brink of the declivity.
In order, however, to accommodate their course to each other, as the
rigidity of the shafts compelled them, a struggle invariably took place
between the two, and, inevitably, at the most critical spot, during
which the poor traveller found himself unpleasantly suspended a moment
over the angle of the fearful escarpment.
After a journey of sixty _lies_, about twenty English miles, not
without exciting moments, but still in contemplating a phase of nature
unique, perhaps, in the world, we arrived at Suen-oua-fou. No sooner
had we passed the fortifications of this village than our mule drivers
began uttering constantly repeated cries. There is no country more
infested with secret societies than China. Every inhabitant of this
empire makes it a point of honour to belong to one or two of them. The
cries of our mule leaders were the rallying signals of those to which
they were attached. I wondered what was the cause of this warning, but
did not discover it.
The hotel at which we stopped was disposed like the houses of
Maimatchin, already mentioned: there was merely that difference between
the two which there is in France between an inn and a palace. One thing
in particular deserves notice; it is that throughout China, even in the
most humble dwellings, art may be recognized, not merely in the general
arrangement, but even in the minutest details. The tables that are
placed on the estrade of every room, the stools, the little cups out
of which rice brandy is sipped, the small teapots, the slender eating
sticks, have all an artistic form or look. It is very often singular,
and even occasionally a little far-fetched, but everywhere may be
witnessed the predominance of artistic ideas, and every object is
interesting to examine. After the meal--a miserable low tavern repast
this time, and sadly adapted to the demands of European palates--we
soon stretched ourselves to sleep, like the Chinese, on the estrade
where we had just dined.
The next day, the 4th of May, we passed over a charming country; the
loveliest I have seen anywhere, except in some parts of Japan. We
followed constantly the course of a rivulet only a few yards wide
meandering along the foot of a wall-sided cliff, the top of which
was crowned with large trees that formed a bower over the stream and
dropped from their spreading branches long festoons of verdant tufty
creepers, coming down to caress lovingly the bosom of the brook.
We continued our way through this attractive country for at least
sixty _lies_ more, and at last arrived at an immense village, called
Ti-mih-gnih, about eleven in the morning, where we breakfasted.
This, like all Chinese villages, was fortified, and had outgrown its
fortifications from time to time, for there were several lines of
enclosure one within the other. It may surpass in size Toun-cheh-ouh,
with its population of 400,000 souls. It took us an hour to cross it.
Perhaps the reader may wonder how good government is ensured among
such masses of human beings, and may suppose that an immense army is
requisite for the emperor to maintain his throne and his dynasty. Order
is secured almost without an army, and by means of a secret police
and the rigorous application of the law by those who are responsible
for its maintenance. The father of the family answers with his head
as a gauge for the conduct of his children; the mandarin of the third
class likewise for the order of his district, etc. On the other
hand, the father has the power of life or death over his children;
and the mandarin likewise over the members of his district. In case
of conspiracy, therefore, it may be suspected what takes place. The
father of a family, fearing the repressive power of the mandarin,
sacrifices his children immediately he knows they are guilty. Before
revolution can reach so far as the imperial palace, all the members of
the administrative hierarchy must have steeped their hands in it with
the conviction that they have all thereby exposed their lives. Such
an event, therefore, is highly improbable. This explains also how
many travellers have been witnesses of twenty or thirty executions
at a time, as they have described in their narratives. If a mandarin
admonished of a grave crime in his district spares a single accomplice,
he is responsible to his superior: he generally prefers, then, to
sacrifice a few lives, and thus be on the right side for the safety of
his own head, to running the risk of overlooking a single guilty one.
It is quite intelligible that with such summary, arbitrary proceedings,
the Chinese government does not desire Europeans to penetrate into its
empire. They are, in short, an imbecile race, who are so besotted as
to share the hatred of their government towards us and sacrifice the
missionaries we send there rather than profit by them to obtain their
liberty.
On leaving Ti-mih-gnih the valley opened considerably. The wind became
so boisterous that it caused our mules to yield to its force, even so
far as to expose them to the risk of being blown over the edge into the
river. After a third march of sixty _lies_ we reached Chah-tchen. The
evening passed away in the most disconsolate manner. The palanquin
journey and the Chinese _cuisine_ superadded, had indisposed us
severely. M. Schévélof, M. Wassili-Michäelovitch, and Pablo did not
even rise from their palanquins. M. Marine and I only slept on the inn
platform.
We were startled out of our slumbers in the middle of the night by the
report of fire-arms in the court. We leaped up in a hurry, convinced
that one of our companions, and probably young Kousnietzof, who had
two guns and a revolver, had been the victim of an accident. Our fears
were, however, immediately calmed on seeing our friends in a deep
sleep. The discharge of fire-arms had taken place undoubtedly in the
street. A Chinese man or woman had perhaps received it full in the
chest, an incident much too trifling to interrupt one’s slumber in this
country.
We started early the next morning, and having done fifty _lies_ through
an uninteresting country we stopped to breakfast at Hrouaé-laeh-sien.
The Chinese villages, just the same as the Arab villages, are very
much like one another. I was never tired, however, at every halt of
regarding this bustling movement, quite exceptional and unknown in
our western cities, even the most commercial, such as London, San
Francisco, or New York. How many types presented themselves in reality
now! types I had seen formerly only in albums, or on folding screens.
The street porter balancing on his shoulder a pole of exaggerated
length, with little round cards hanging from each end covered with
dragons or some fantastic figures; children with puffed-out stomachs
and three little tails of hair hanging from their shaven crowns, one
above the forehead and the other two dangling near their ears. The
constant shaving till the age of twelve or fifteen gives to the hair of
the back of the head an unusual vigour when it is wanted to form a fine
pigtail.
The habit of adults of preserving but a single long tress behind, dates
only from the conquest of the Tartars and the establishment of their
dynasty. The conquerors being Mahometans, and consequently fanatics,
endeavoured to impose the Koran throughout China. They did not succeed
in this object, but an edict promulgated by the Emperor, requiring the
head to be shaved in the Arabian manner, preserving merely a little
tuft of hair on the crown of the head, commonly called the _Mahomet_,
continued in force. But as the Chinese are artistic in everything they
do, they transformed the ludicrous little tuft of the Arabs into a long
thick silky tress. This _coiffure_ is, moreover, perfectly consistent
with the climate and the nature of the soil. It is so in this way;
the dust is so fine, and consequently is so copiously raised by the
lightest breeze, that it is necessary after the least travelling, or
in Pekin after even an ordinary promenade in the streets, to get into
a bath so soon as one reaches his home. Now all the Chinese without
exception have abundance of hair, and if they were to keep it all on
their heads, it may easily be imagined what care and trouble it would
demand to cleanse it, and if neglected, particularly by those whose
occupations compelled them to remain constantly in the open air, what
foul, dusty mops they would have usurping the place of head-gear.
Exported and sold too, in such a condition, these shorn chignons
would evidently be less presentable to the ladies of England and
France, to whom China sends so many cargoes of these delicate _objets
de luxe_--the only valuable remnants probably of so many decapitated
criminals.
They can, on the other hand, very easily keep their pigtail free from
dust, and as spruce as a skein of silk, either by hiding it under a
cap, or by letting it hang under their clothing. The peasants, who are
obliged during summer to work in the open field, use this tress to
fasten large wet napkins over their heads as a protection against the
fierce rays of the sun.
It is astonishing, moreover, on entering China--a country we in France
have too long ridiculed--to see what industry pervades the people in
everything they do, and especially in their agriculture, which, however
much it may be favoured by the richness of the soil, is nevertheless
indebted for its prosperity to the industry of the people.
With regard to this question I will refer to a social organization well
worth notice. When a Chinese has merited by his services a title of
nobility, his son in due course inherits merely the title immediately
inferior, and the nobility thus descends, diminishing in rank in the
family from generation to generation until it becomes definitely
extinct, unless one of its members render some service to his country
and thus regain the title originally granted to his ancestors. No one,
certainly, has more veneration than I have for old French families
and ancient titles; but I should always desire to have good reason to
esteem the men that are honoured by them as much as I respect the bare
names and titles themselves. The ingenious Chinese institution gives
an ever active emulation to the nobility, a desire all the stronger to
render a service to the country, since the title is always fading away,
because it is thought more dishonourable to suffer this inheritance to
become extinct by those who have enjoyed it, than never to have merited
a distinction at all.