TCHAH-TAO TO PEKIN.
An exciting incident--The Pass of Nang-kao--Picturesqueness
of the gorge--A young married couple--The levy of taxes--
Toun-cheh-ouh--The last solitude--Entry into Pekin--Arrival
at the Legation.
After having travelled over fifty _lies_ since leaving
Hrouaé-lach-sien, we arrived at Tchah-tao. This village is
picturesquely situated at the foot of a little mountain that carries
the third wall--here a brick wall. As we arrived rather early, and
our inn was near the gate of the town, we went to take a walk along
the ramparts, which consist of a great brick wall four or five yards
wide. I was much astonished to see there two cannon without carriages,
lying abandoned as useless lumber. Can it be true that cannon existed
in China long before we had any notion in Europe of the properties of
gunpowder? But it is quite certain that no European expedition has
penetrated so far as Tchah-tao. These bronze cannon unfortunately bore
no inscription, nor even any mark that might indicate their origin.
During this promenade M. Marine thoughtlessly threw a stone from the
ramparts, which happened to hit a dog below. The proprietor of the
animal turned round in a rage, and seeing that the projectile had been
thrown by a European, tried to excite the crowd to take vengeance for
such an outrage. The opportunity was only too well appreciated, and we
were followed by more than five hundred persons, in our retreat to the
inn, hooting, and showing a disposition to rush on us. M. Schévélof
made a sign for me to retire with Pablo into some obscure corner, and
mounting on the platform began addressing them to pacify their anger.
“We are not Europeans,” he earnestly remonstrated. “We are Siberians;
look at our passports; the two peoples are brothers, and you cannot
doubt our friendly sentiments.” A few Chinese who spoke Russian, of
which there are instances everywhere here, replied in this language;
the affair then came quietly to an end. Pablo and I did not venture
out of our hole till this mob was dispersed, and M. Schévélof advised
us on account of the adventure to quit the village at daybreak.
This day we were to go through the famous passes of Nang-Kao, between
the village of Nang-Kao and the portion of the Great Wall the nearest
to the capital--an attraction that no tourist to Pekin disregards.
Dreading the shocks of the palanquin in so mountainous a country, and
desiring to enjoy as much as possible the grand scenery at our ease,
we jogged along on asses, from Tchah-tao to Nang-Kao. About an hour
after we had left the village, and having passed the brick wall I
have mentioned, we arrived at the pass, the entrance of which is very
narrow, and is closed by a fourth wall.
The approach is by zigzags in the declivity similar to those we
passed between Mongolia and Kalkann, and then, after crossing a
fifth wall, one enters into a narrow gorge extremely picturesque.
The Chinese doubtlessly must have formerly regarded this spot as the
most formidable entrenchment against the Mongols. In a gorge that can
only be approached by an escarped road, and protected by two walls
surmounted with crenelated towers and fortresses, there were certainly
the means of an obstinate defence for a long time, even against an
enemy very superior in number. When the tourist has arrived at the
bottom of the valley the route is continued amid remarkable sites
constantly varied. I will mention one only that struck me more than the
others by its originality and its charming aspect.
The pass at this spot may be from about twelve to sixteen yards wide.
The little river of Nang-kao occupies the whole width of it, and
scatters its waters amid scores of rocks. Our little donkeys were
obliged to leap from one to another to clear the passage between. The
two walls of rock forming the gorge overhang the river, and come so
near to one another at a certain height that they admit through the
opening but a few rays to light up, in a mysterious gloom, this sort
of natural grotto. The Chinese have scooped out a little temple in the
face of one of these rocks about ten yards from the ground.
It is reached by steps cut out on the wall of the rock, having the
appearance of a natural causeway. The entrance of the temple is
ornamented with sculptured wood painted red and gilded, with lanterns
and all sorts of suspended ornaments. Nothing can be more charming, or
gayer and prettier, and at the same time more Chinese than this little
nook, which is all at once a valley, a grotto, the bed of a rivulet,
and a sanctuary. Once in my life only have I desired to be an idol.
Happy the god that dwells in such an enchanting spot!
I was quite astonished on emerging from this little temple to find on
the other side the walls of the rock sculptured in the Egyptian manner,
and kinds of modillions, as in the land of the Pharaohs.
The remainder of the pass of Nang-kao is also very fine, but resembling
too much many similar my readers must have frequently seen in their
travels, to render it worth while to describe it here.
But I may say briefly that it resembles the entrance to the gorges of
the Trent, Roland’s Breach, and the valley of the Chiffa in Algeria;
what may be seen and admired very often in mountainous countries. I
should mention, however, a village gate, a kind of triumphal arch
in stone, sculptured, sunk, and covered with dragons and fabulous
monsters in such a way that it may certainly be reckoned among the
_chefs-d’œuvre_ of Chinese art.
We crossed in due course the two last walls of China, or, to speak
more correctly, the two last buttresses of the Great Wall of Kalkann,
and arrived at Nang-kao. I was delighted to hear myself addressed in
French on entering this village by the Chinese mule drivers and sedan
carriers, and to see written on the walls of the inn warnings in French
to travellers, such as this: “Défiez-vous du maître de l’hôtel, c’est
un hardi voleur;” signed “Un officier de marine compâtissant envers les
étrangers;” and many similar.
The reason was, Nang-kao is often a place of rendezvous for the
_personnel_ of the embassies at Pekin; and the tourists who visit
the capital never omit going to Nang-kao and the tomb of the Mignes,
returning by the Summer Palace and the Great Bell. It is the
established excursion, just as to see the Mer de Glace of Chamounix or
the Righi of Lucerne.
After we had resumed our palanquins to take our way to the village of
Kouan-chih-lih, M. Schévélof said to me: “We are obliged to reach as
quickly as possible the south of China, and consequently to take the
road to Toun-cheh-ouh and Tien-tsin. We have just decided on not going
to Pekin; still, you are not far from the capital here, and the time
is come to separate and say adieu.” “I will go with you to the next
stage, Toun-cheh-ouh, and from there to Pekin,” I said, unwilling to
part till absolutely necessary. In truth this sudden announcement of
a separation, the prospect of finding myself alone with Pablo in an
unknown country, among people that seemed hostile and to whom I could
not make myself intelligible, inspired me with misgiving and almost
fear. The reader will see what curious result this decision led to from
what follows.
At the moment of starting we saw coming into the court of the inn a
palanquin borne by two men. It contained, therefore, some aristocratic
personage; for in China such a mode of locomotion is permitted only to
persons enjoying a certain dignity or holding a certain rank in the
hierarchy. The horse and the mule palanquin may be used by everybody;
the carriage, and especially the carriage having the axle far removed
from the shafts, as well as the palanquin borne by men, are reserved
for the aristocracy.
We, therefore, approached this privileged vehicle as soon as we saw
it enter into the court of our inn, and presently there descended
from it a lady apparently rather pretty, if one might say that a lady
could be pretty under a thick coat of paint, with the disadvantage of
extraordinary _embonpoint_. What I specially remarked was the apparent
absence of feet. Under the ankle the leg ended in a point like the end
of a stilt or a wooden leg.
[Illustration: MY PALANQUIN.]
The poor woman, whom this conformation indicated as a member of
the high class, and as one to be admired and envied by all fine
connoisseurs and people of the most refined taste, could not take a
single step, even supported between her two servants. She was carried
from the palanquin, to be laid down like anything else unendowed with
power of movement, on the platform of a distant room. M. Schévélof
was informed on questioning the palanquin men that she was the wife of
a great mandarin, on his honeymoon tour.
We saw the happy husband arrive a few minutes later; it will be
sufficient to say he was just like the governor of Maimatchin, already
mentioned. These Chinese husbands of high rank should be free from any
anxiety on the score of their wives _running away_ from them, and at
the same time be perfectly satisfied with the important guarantee they
hold for obedience to their lord and master.
As the distance is very great between Kouan-chih-lih and Toun-cheh-ouh
we left as early as two in the morning. On leaving Nang-kao we left
the mountains also, to enter on the plains of Pekin. The country,
therefore, was not what would be called picturesque, but it was so well
cultivated, so green, so well wooded with fine trees, so cool, from
the numerous canals cutting it in every direction, that I was never
tired of regarding it, and the sight was all the more grateful to my
eyes after the perpetual snow of Siberia and the monotonous desert of
Mongolia, in spite of the picturesqueness of their mountain scenery.
After having travelled over sixty _lies_ we halted a short time at
Lih-choui-tziao, and then resumed our way. We easily passed the Chinese
custom house of Tum-bah, thanks again to the ability of M. Schévélof.
Wherever the Chinese impose a tax it is difficult to escape it, and to
the collection of taxes the law of responsibility extends also. The
sovereign says to the grand mandarins, “I want so much money from your
government.” The grand mandarin says to his subordinate, “I want so
much from your province,” taking care to double the sum for security.
The mandarin of the second class exacts the same from the mandarin of
the third class, in each case doubling through precaution; and the
mandarin of the third class announces to his district that he must
raise such and such a tax, again doubled no doubt through being over
zealous.
Such an organisation doubtlessly is burdensome to the tax-payer, but
since so much is extracted, this is precisely what seems to me an
incontestable proof of the great riches of this country. In spite
of these abuses, misery and destitution are apparently not very
prevalent. During the whole of my sojourn in China, there were hardly
eight or ten who came to me begging, whilst in Egypt, a country reputed
rich, one is constantly assailed with packs of beggars dinning in one’s
ears: “Backsheesh,” “chavaga.”
It was about four in the afternoon when we entered the immense village
of Toun-cheh-ouh, on the banks of the Peiho.
We were entertained at the house of a young Chinese full of health and
_embonpoint_, reminding one a little of the exaggerated round figure of
Mr. Punch, but a thoroughly good fellow, and one fond of good living
in every way. He served us a dinner _à la russe_, which I found to my
taste, after the detestable _cuisine_ of the Chinese cook-shop.
Immediately after this repast my companions went to embark for
Tien-tsin, and I accompanied them as far as the river. On the way M.
Schévélof gave all the necessary instructions to my host to enable him
to provide for my safe journey on the morrow to Pekin.
When these tea merchants arrived at the port, they entered into one
of the barges moored to the shore, in the middle of whose decks is
raised a construction for passengers, resembling somewhat that of
the Venetian gondola. We wished one another good-bye and pleasant
journeys, and off they went. These merchants in departing from my
sight dropped completely the curtain between me and the Empire of the
Czars, and I turned mine eyes from Siberia, a country over which, in
spite of its fertility and auriferous riches, a bird of prey seemed
to be continually hovering. Therefore, on seeing the last ties that
held me, though only remotely, to this unfortunate land of exile and
sorrow cut away, I felt relieved from an oppression, notwithstanding
the singular position in which I found myself among these bulb-shaped
Chinese. I could say nothing whatever to my host. Even Pablo’s talent
in expressing himself in pantomime became quite insufficient to
penetrate the limited intelligence of the Buddhist with whom I was
lodged. I could not close an eye the whole night on account of the
repeated attacks of an army of fleas, that annoyed me with their scouts
in every quarter, drawn out probably by a change of diet in which they
revelled; and again on account of the night watch, whose duty it
was to make a row to frighten away thieves, according to the Chinese
custom, which I first became acquainted with at Krasnoiarsk. The next
day my host could not provide me with a palanquin before one in the
afternoon. I was, however, very glad that he had even so far complied
with the instructions of M. Schévélof, for if he had been disposed to
keep me at his house some time, I really do not know how I could have
managed to have got out of it again. Just as I was going away I gave a
trifle to one of the servants: the master perceiving it called all the
servants together, who came and knelt before me and touched the ground
with their foreheads. However familiar a European may be with Oriental
manners, he can never regard without a pang such a spectacle of slavish
humility. I jumped into my palanquin as quickly as possible, and took
leave of my host, not in offering my hand, which is not in accordance
with Chinese custom, but in pressing my hands together, and moving them
two or three times in a line perpendicular to my chest. I understood,
with satisfaction, that this obliging man recommended my mule driver
to conduct me to the French Embassy; then we started, Pablo and I,
towards the capital of the Celestial Empire.
Whilst I was journeying under a burning sun over this road, covered
with thick dust, in the abominable vehicle called a palanquin, three
young horsemen, whom I shall present to the reader, galloped by without
drawing rein between Tien-tsin and Pekin.
The distance is thirty-two leagues, and they would accomplish it in a
day. They had, certainly, no time to lose. Having left Tien-tsin at
four in the morning, they had stopped an hour in a village to breakfast
and change horses: at the time I was leaving Toun-cheh-ouh, they had
just begun the second stage. In order to go from Paris to Pekin,
these three young French travellers had not braved the hardships of a
Siberian winter, nor the monotony of a sledge, nor the discomfort of a
Chinese vehicle; and yet their adventures were as interesting as mine.
They had been through India: they had been received in the palaces
of the nabobs of that country, far more attractive I should say than
those of the gold hunters of the North: they had hunted wild beasts in
Ceylon and Java, chased the elephant in the virgin forests of Malacca,
and continuing their hardy course, they thought it a mere trifle to do
thirty-two leagues a day, intending, if circumstances admitted of it,
to resume their journey at the same speed.
The first of these three young men--one of my best friends, who, whilst
we were travelling a few miles apart on the plain of Pekin, I thought
was in Paris--was the Baron Benoist Méchin; his two comrades were the
Viscomte de Gouy d’Arsy and Monsieur Guillaume Jeannel. They arrived at
the legation as I came in sight of the fortifications of the capital of
China.
At this sight I felt quite a glow of enthusiasm. The longer one has
had an object in view, and the more efforts he has made to attain it,
the greater is the joy on reaching it at last. It is difficult to find
anything grander and more boldly constructed than the first wall of
Pekin. It is a wall of imposing elevation, crenelated, and perfectly
regular. Here and there fortresses are raised above principal gates,
rising to three or four stories, and roofed in green porcelain, that
glitters in the sun. The gates are of bronze, and gigantic: they are
closed at night, and at certain hours of the day.
I did not enter the city without feeling a thrill of emotion. I had
to pass over some irregular space scattered over with low, unsightly
habitations; then I entered into the populous quarter; finally, under
a dome of foliage I perceived a wooden gate, elegantly sculptured with
two marble lions, above which I could read, “Légation de France.” I had
at last accomplished my journey from Paris to Pekin overland.
When I entered into the salon of M. de Geoffroy, who was the Envoy
Extraordinary of France in China, all the _personnel_ of the legation
were present to do honour to the three young travellers I have just
mentioned. I shall never forget my entry into this hospitable salon,
where I found so much courtesy and affability. The palace was quite
an Eden. What happy days I passed there! I slept at last in a bed,
a luxury I had not known since I left Nijni-Novgorod: I lived _à la
cuisine française_, and I spoke French with French people. But the
reader will feel more interested in a description of Pekin and its
people, which I shall attempt in the next and last chapter.