encouraging. The country, I knew, was still in a state of agitation and
suppressed revolt. Gangs of bandits traversed the country in all
directions, burning farmsteads, pillaging villages, murdering
travellers. Skirmishes often took place between them and the Cossacks,
and more than once during my journey I heard the firing of shots. The
most dreaded of all these ruffians are the Chunchuses; they are formed
into more or less organized bodies, like the bandits of ancient Italy,
and they possess as much influence as the Mafia of Sicily.
It was getting late and we had travelled for many hours without seeing
any trace of houses. I could ask no questions, because I could only say
those two words, _poo-how_ and _how-di_. Even if Li-Hu had been of a
communicative turn of mind I should not have understood his
explanations, so we continued our lugubrious ride in perfect silence, I
perched on the back of a mule, with the shafts of the cart for stirrups,
while Li-Hu had the carriage all to himself. He wriggled about like a
serpent and finally sought consolation for the bitter reality of the
present in the happy dreams of the past.
At last the will-o'-the-wisps drew nearer, the phantoms took the form of
ordinary trees, and the roars of the dragons resolved themselves into
the barking of dogs.
I scarcely dared to believe that I had reached my destination, lest I
should be disappointed. Li-Hu was sound asleep, but the mules made
straight for a dismal-looking building, and stopped as by instinct in
front of a conspicuous signboard. By the same instinct, I suppose, Li-Hu
awoke and I asked eagerly, "Mukden? Mukden?" But evidently I was wrong,
for he emphatically shook his head.
After a while the innkeeper appeared on the threshold and looked even
more forbidding than the house itself, through the open doors of which
escaped thick clouds of opium-smoke. I should have preferred to remain
on the back of my mule, as there was no possibility of stretching my
legs because of the mud, but they were already unharnessing my beast, so
I had no choice, and was obliged to enter the house.
The place was lugubrious in the extreme. It looked like a witch's cave,
and all things combined to complete this impression. There was the
cauldron hanging on a chain over the fire, while enormous logs of wood
diffused a sulphurous flame in the light of which the inmates of the
place looked truly terrible. At least a dozen men were crouching on the
floor, and several others lay asleep on the kang or heated earthen bench
which ran all along the dwelling. They were smoking opium in small
bronze pipes.
At my entrance most of them roused themselves from their stupor, and
their small eyes expressed astonishment, united with curiosity,
mistrust, and hatred. I could detect all the hostility of the East
against the West in that look. The ill-will of the yellow race towards
"the white devils" manifested itself in all its bitterness and force. I
must confess that I did not feel quite at my ease in this uncanny
company, and it was only the deep interest which I felt in these people,
in the den and its surroundings, the novelty of the situation and my
passionate interest in human nature, which helped me through the ordeal.
What was going to happen? Would they remain passive, or were they going
to attack me? They were interrogating Li-Hu. It was like a play to watch
the proceedings. Without understanding the language, it was easy enough
to follow the drift of the argument. "Who is it? Where is he going? What
has he got?"
From the expression of Li-Hu's face and his hesitation in answering, I
gathered that the information he had to give concerning his charge was
not satisfactory, but I also noted with interest how cleverly he
concocted a story to his own advantage. Evidently the shrewd Chinaman
had in his mind two strong points in my favour. In the first place I had
not yet paid him, and in the second place I had been entrusted to his
care by the station-master, by whom he was known. I also detected that
he did not want to rouse the animosity of the other men, consequently he
never mentioned my private car, probably also by the advice of the
station-master, and from the expression of his face and the manner in
which he turned out his pockets, he was clearly representing me as a
poor missionary who was going to Mukden to fetch his pay at the bank,
and whom it would not be worth while to kidnap on his way there.
The minutes dragged on like so many hours; the night seemed endless.
Finally, to pass the time, I began to draw with some coloured chalks.
Would that interest them? I wondered. I could not be sure at first, but
the ruffians slowly gathered round me and I never had more complacent
spectators. Those men who, a few minutes ago, would have taken my life,
or at least my purse, suddenly became quite friendly. Like the lyre of
Orpheus, my pictures did wonders, soothing the savage instincts and
softening the passions of these brigands. It was the greatest triumph my
modest crayons ever won for me.
At last there was a general stir. Li-Hu prepared his cart, and we
started once more. It was still dark, but the rain had ceased and the
cold rays of the moon from time to time broke through the parting
clouds. By means of these occasional flashes of light I discerned in the
distance, silhouetted against the horizon, the dark outlines of a
pagoda. Surely that was the point we were making for. We had long since
left the so-called main road, and were jolting and jerking along by
fields of turnips and Indian corn. The shocks were perhaps not quite so
rough as before, on the half-paved highroad, but their violence was yet
amazing.
It was daybreak when we arrived before the principal gate of Mukden, and
after the night of darkness and peril the glories of the city seemed
enhanced. The sky was cloudless and intensely blue, as if enamelled in
cobalt on a golden ground. The richly sculptured fronts of the houses
shone with truly Oriental splendour. It was the early hour of the morn.
People poured out of the city gates to start their daily tasks in the
fields and farms. Every one wore bright-coloured garments, and looked
happy and cheerful. Everything breathed contentment: the effect was
charming. It was the victory of light over darkness.
The sun, like a great magician, had waved his wand, touched and
dispersed clouds and gloom, and thrown, so it would seem, a veil of
oblivion over the sadness and misery of the past night, to give courage
and hope to begin another day.
IV
THE CAPITAL OF MANCHURIA
My surprise on first beholding the famous city of Mukden was as complete
as it was agreeable. The scene before me was simply delightful. At first
I could not distinguish anything clearly, neither lines nor forms. I was
dazzled by the intensity of colour and light.
The facade of every house was ornamented with strange carvings and
mouldings; never before had I seen such fantastic prodigality of human
imagination. All the lines curve upward, and every house resembles a
pagoda on a small scale. So many motives, so many different colours;
red, yellow, green, blue, in endless profusion, the effect being
increased by rich gilding.
In front of the houses are shops or booths, where are exposed--generally
in the open--goods and merchandise of all kinds, arranged in fanciful
pyramids in accordance with Oriental caprice. Embroideries, rich silks,
artificial flowers, fans, and umbrellas, anything, in fact, to tempt the
local taste or satisfy the daily demands. The displays of porcelain are
particularly attractive, also the shows of silver and brass ware. Most
fascinating are the stalls of the bric-a-brac dealers with their fine
lacquer-work, fluted vases of priceless value, old porcelains, cloisonne
boxes, and artistically designed snuff-bottles.[B]
[B] The Chinese do not use boxes, but snuff-bottles of great value.
Before every booth a tall mast or pole is dressed, from which floats a
flag as signboard, and both are elaborately inscribed with
advertisements of wares sold inside the shop. The bootmakers' insignia
are particularly artistic and only surpassed in splendour by the rich
festoons of gold which mark the pawnbrokers' shops. The main
thoroughfare, with its endless variety of cabalistic design and rich
colouring, is like an Oriental bazaar or the gorgeous scenery of a
theatre. But what struck me most was the enormous vitality and activity
of this marvellous city.
It was like watching an ants' nest to see this surging tide of human
beings incessantly flooding the squares and streets. Men and women,
young and old, of all ranks and all nationalities, push and press past
one another. Some are carried in beautiful chairs, others content
themselves with a modest kind of wheelbarrow, in which six or seven
persons can be accommodated on a narrow board, and which is pushed along
by a famished-looking coolie. These wheelbarrows answer the purpose of
omnibuses in the Manchu capital, and they take a person from one end of
the city to the other for about a quarter of a halfpenny. "Rickshaws"
have recently come into fashion; they are a great improvement on the old
means of conveyance, for instead of being pushed they are pulled along.
All true Manchus, however, prefer riding on horseback to any other mode
of locomotion.
Whatever room is left in the street is taken up by pedestrians,
labourers carrying enormous loads, and coolies going about their daily
business. It is an impressive sight, and once more I came to the
conclusion that the intrinsic character of a place is not expressed in
the arrangement of its streets, or in the height and style of its
buildings, but in the general manifestation of its activity.
While the eye takes in all these various details, the ear need not be
idle. The air is full of sound. Strains of music proceeding from the
tea-houses, costermongers' cries, shrieks of quarrelsome children, and
high-pitched voices in admonition; shouting and noise of all sorts and
in endless variety are heard.
At every step there is a fresh surprise. Fortunately, so far, no
guide-books have been written to describe the attractions of the Manchu
capital, and no cumbersome descriptions spoil the effect of its genuine
charms.
To form an idea of the plan of the city, imagine an oblong chess-board.
Like all Chinese towns, it is regular in the principal lines. There are
two main streets in the form of a cross, intersected by innumerable
narrow lanes, and in the middle of the town, where the two chief
thoroughfares cross, stands a high tower from the top of which a drum
and a gong announce the beginning and the close of the day. Also from
this high vantage ground the alarm is given in case of danger, and a
detachment of soldiers, stationed in a sort of pigeon-holes, spend the
hours of their watch in peaceful slumber.
It would be difficult to enumerate all the places of interest which
Mukden contains, for everything is interesting to the Western mind, even
to the smallest cottage with its curiously shaped roof and quaint style.
And the interest lies not only in their material conception or in their
exterior, but also in their inner qualities, and especially in the fact
that they give expression to the mental and artistic ideas of the
nation. As has already been said, it is at first the general effect, the
picturesqueness, and the novelty, which strike one as so charming. Some
of the houses are very dilapidated, the walls lean over, and the roofs
are covered with a tangled growth of moss and grass. But all this makes
them the more attractive from an artistic point of view.
Among the most interesting public edifices are the yamens belonging to
the Government, and occupied by the Governor and some others of the
mandarins of high degree; one or two Lama monasteries; the large
buildings where the Russian Consul and the Commander-in-Chief reside;
and last, but not least, the building occupied by the famous
Russo-Chinese Bank and its agents.
Naturally the Imperial Palace is a place of great interest. With its
enclosure of walls it forms a city within the city. It is divided into
various courts, and consists of a great many separate structures,
detached houses, halls, and pavilions. Taken separately these are not of
great importance, but the whole effect is very striking. The colonnades,
beams, and brackets are of carved wood, richly painted and gilded. All
the woodwork is painted dark purple, and the roofs, like those of all
edifices connected with the Imperial Family, or dedicated to Confucius,
are covered with yellow tiles. The greater part of the palace is now
occupied by Russian troops.
Near the palace gate is a low building in which a whole detachment of
soldiers is quartered, and the open court is lined with cannon. It was
only on my showing them a special permission from the commander that the
sentries allowed me to pass.
The interior of the palace is in a sad state of ruin. Since the Imperial
Family departed for Pekin, it has never been inhabited, and the few art
treasures still remaining are carelessly scattered about the place.
There are some valuable panels, some precious jades, and exquisite
porcelains, but the greater portion of them disappeared after the last
war. Some say that these treasures have been stolen by the Boxers, but
according to another version the thieves must be looked for elsewhere. I
was told that the very rare collection of old manuscripts and official
documents is now quietly reposing among the archives at St. Petersburg
to be protected from destruction.
My eyes wandered from the reception-halls to the vestibules, from the
terraces to the gardens. It was all so original, so quaint. But the
thing which specially strikes the visitor is the incongruity of
transforming this sacred cradle of the master minds of the Celestial
Empire into a Cossack encampment. As I passed out through the principal
entrance, a Muscovite warrior stood on guard by the Dragon's door, and
his white blouse contrasted strangely with the heavy bulk of the palace.
As the day advanced, the crowds in the city increased. Russian soldiers
paraded the streets and patrolled the ramparts in small detachments. I
saw officers on frisky ponies and ladies with their families going
about in the national _troikas_.
It is especially noteworthy that these Russian people not only feel
perfectly at home among the Manchus, but that the conquered people
associate on the most friendly terms with their conquerors in the
taverns and inns. They sit amicably side by side and appear to be the
best of friends. It is true that many of the enemies were born on the
same soil; they are practically semi-Asiatics themselves; often have a
common origin, and belong to the same race; above all, live the same
primitive and uncultivated life.
The great difference which separates the European, whether of the
Anglo-Saxon or the Latin race, from the Mongol and the Tartar, does not
exist here. As soon as a fight is concluded, they settle down to their
ordinary life; the greatest cruelties committed on either side are soon
forgotten. Hatred may lurk in their innermost minds, but outwardly they
live in peace together.
They have the same tastes, the same amusements, and agree particularly
on the question of frugality. Contempt of comfort, indifference to
refinement, and a very rudimentary degree of culture, are common to both
of them. One thing which even more prevents any feeling of coldness
arising between them is that, far from trying to transform and educate
the conquered nation, the conquerors often stoop to the low level of the
subjugated people.
With the exception of the railway I am not aware that any attempts have
been made to civilize the Manchus. Commerce is not encouraged and
international traffic does not exist, because all the towns have thus
far been closed to foreigners. The Russian Government is even taking
steps to get into its own hands the English and American mining
operations which are being financed by some new loans. In spiritual
matters the same restrictions prevail, and the difficulties which are
put in the way of the missionary work increase from day to day.
In local government a semblance of the old forms is preserved. Manchuria
is divided into three administrations, Tsi-tsi-kar, Kirin, and Mukden.
Each province has a governor, and all three are under the authority of a
viceroy or mandarin of the highest rank, who resides at Mukden.
The official yamen, and the staff of dignitaries of various degrees, are
here exactly what they are everywhere else. They all appear extremely
busy, writing extraordinary cabalistic signs on sheets of rice-paper.
The small details of local affairs keep them occupied all day; probably
they know nothing of matters of serious importance, but they seem
admirably suited to fill a post which involves a minimum of
responsibility and brings with it a good substantial salary. There
appears to be a perfect _entente cordiale_ between the Manchu mandarins
and the Russian generals, and if perchance a difference of opinion
should occur, the difficulty is generally smoothed over by the
irresistible influence and the mysterious power of the Russo-Chinese
Bank.
The important event of my first day was the official reception given by
the Governor. I was carried to the palace in a chair, followed by an
interpreter and my little major-domo. The canopy of the chair was
covered with green silk, and four stalwart fellows carried me through
the narrow, tortuous streets. The shaking was terrible, for where the
pavement should have been there were big holes filled with liquid mud. I
could forgive my bearers for their rough handling of my chair, but it
was difficult not to resent being bumped on to the ground every time
they changed shoulders, which they did without slackening their pace. It
was not a great height to fall from, but the sensation was decidedly
unpleasant. It was like a nightmare; the time occupied by the fall
seemed interminable, and on reaching the ground I felt like being hurled
to the bottom of a precipice.
At last we came to the principal entrance of the palace, at least what
I supposed to be the principal entrance, judging from a group of queerly
attired creatures, who presented arms--and such arms! It was an
extraordinary collection, reminding me of the get-up of some old Chinese
play. They were fierce-looking warriors, carrying halberds, javelins,
and sickles on long poles, glittering and sparkling in the midday sun.
As seen from the outside, the palace is a poor structure. The massive
wall which flanks the front gate is decorated with pictures of dragons
to scare away, as I was told, evil spirits and "the white devils." The
first court I came to was not much more attractive. It seemed, in fact,
no better than a stable yard. There were a few horses tied to their
stalls and some shelters for the soldiers and servants. I had to cross
several courts before I arrived at the court of honour, which was square
like the others, and had halls on each side. It was beautifully
decorated with flowers and shrubs. There were chrysanthemums, and dwarf
orange, peach, and pear trees, especially cultivated for the purpose of
ornamentation. The effect produced was exquisite, and though the
surroundings are all more or less in a state of decadence, that inner
court is a picturesque specimen of Chinese domestic architecture.
But I had no time to study it in detail, for the Mandarin stood there
in the centre, surrounded by his court. He was in a robe of dark blue
silk, magnificently embroidered, and his suite was no less gorgeously
attired. When I appeared upon the threshold of the vestibule we
exchanged profound bows, and repeated this salutation until we met half
way. Then we shook hands in Western fashion, no easy task, considering
that my host's finger-nails were at least two inches long. The customary
introductions over, he led the way to his private apartments.
The first room was entirely Chinese, and contained some exquisitely
carved armchairs. The effect of the second room was spoiled by two easy
chairs of Vienna manufacture, a hideous French clock, and a tablecloth,
probably of Manchester make.
The preliminary compliments once exchanged--a formidable business
here--His Excellency asked me some dozen questions which in the West
would be considered most indiscreet, but are obligatory in the East.
Then he conducted me to the dining-hall, where luncheon was set on a
round table profusely decorated with flowers and sweetmeats.
Innumerable little dishes were scattered over the silk tablecloth, and
saucers filled with raisins, grapes, almonds, olives, and a variety of
dainties. Etiquette prescribes that the guest shall be placed on the
left of his host, and that the first mouthful of food shall be put on to
his plate by the host himself. After that the servants bring in dishes
containing the most delicate productions of the Chinese culinary art.
Fish soup and snail soup, sharks' fins in unpalatable jellies, all kinds
of minces and hashes, and patties with sauces most unpleasant to Western
taste, composed the menu.
Custom, which regulates all public and social functions in this country,
demands that no less than fifty different dishes be presented to a guest
of distinction. All these concoctions are handed round on large trays,
in series of eight at a time. They look different, but all taste alike,
at least so it seemed to me. They are both sweet and sour, and whether
they go by the name of minced birds'-nests, or croquettes of dog-flesh,
I could detect no difference in taste. The other guests, however, fully
made up for my want of appreciation.
As the meal proceeded, the conversation became more animated. When the
subjects dictated by ceremony had been disposed of, the company
expressed much interest in my researches and studies. My host questioned
me on many points. He was decidedly clever, and although one was apt to
forget the solemnity of the occasion on looking at his somewhat
ridiculous costume and hat, formed in the shape of a pagoda surmounted
by a precious stone the size of a potato, and adorned with waving
peacock's feathers--in which attire even the wisest man would look a
fool--I could not help being impressed by his sagacity.
He was somewhat reserved, but seemed pleased to talk about his country,
and gave me some valuable information when he saw how much interested I
was in the ancient history of the land, and the origin of its
inhabitants. For they, thousands of years ago, had proceeded from the
same stock as the people of my own race, who had founded the kingdom in
Pannonia. The foundation of the Manchu empire is connected even more
closely than I thought with the migration of the Huns. It would, indeed,
open a vast field of study for the historian to seek the connecting link
and the affinity existing between the first Magyars and Manchus.
The repast over, the Governor proposed a visit to the imperial tombs,
the chief sight of the country. Indeed, there is nothing the people
venerate more deeply than those monuments of the defunct members of
their dynasty; they are the pride of the nation.
We started without much delay. It was a glorious afternoon, and in the
brightness of the autumn sun the country looked its best. Our cavalcade
galloped across pasture land, where horses and cattle peaceably grazed
together. Here and there a shepherd sought diversion in the consoling
melody of some old song, like all human beings whose lives are spent in
solitude, and in the contemplation of the immensity of nature. The music
was simple and the instrument simpler still, an archaic flute cut out of
a reed.
Skirting the far end of the pasture was a dark brushwood; my companions
told me that this was the sacred grove containing the imperial tombs.
The distance to the town might be about six or seven miles, but our
little horses carried us quickly over the ground. The Manchu
dignitaries, in their flowing silken robes, their pagoda-like hats,
their embroideries and long pigtails, looked unquestionably most
picturesque. My mount and my saddle were similar to theirs, pretty, but
at the same time I must say that I never rode on anything more
uncomfortable than a Chinese saddle of embossed wood, with stirrups in
the shape of slippers, and fixed so high that knees and chin nearly
meet.