grove. Forbidding-looking dragons guard the entrance. A deep cutting
gives access to the place of interment, and this long alley is guarded
on both sides by monsters of various descriptions. Elephants, camels,
gigantic human figures, are placed at intervals facing each other, all
cut in stone, and intended to ward off the evil spirits.
The beauty of the place is indescribable. The darkness of the foliage,
the white stone statues, and the paved pathway winding through the
woods, all help to give it the character of an enchanted forest, where
solitude reigns, and the air is full of poetry.
Later we crossed some marble bridges of exquisite workmanship, their
curiously sculptured balustrades softly reflecting themselves in the
blue waters of the little streams flowing lazily between the flowering
banks. I was told that the statues, the streams, and the bridges, have
all of them some allegorical meaning in connexion with the spirits of
the departed.
At length, passing through a porch, we stood face to face with an arch
of such surpassing beauty, that for a moment I was dazed and lost in
speechless admiration. Surely this must be one of the greatest, one of
the most wonderful architectural creations of the Yellow Empire.
Material, design, proportions, all the details, are so supremely
beautiful. It is of marble, the arch resting on two huge blocks with
cross-bars and buttresses supported by imperial dragons. The decorations
are exquisite, and the carving of the friezes unique of its kind. Not
even among all the marvellous monuments of Pekin, Nankin, or Hankow, did
I find anything to rival it. The beauty of the conception, as well as
the finished workmanship, impress one most forcibly, because of its
being so perfectly in keeping with the signification of the whole
triumphal arch, which symbolizes the passage of the spirit, after a life
of strife and victory, to the abodes of their ancestors and everlasting
peace. In this respect I know of nothing to compare with it, unless it
be that pearl of Asiatic architecture, the Taj Mahal.
The tomb itself is enclosed by courts, halls, sacrificial temples,
guard-houses, and sentry-sheds. We left our horses at the inner
entrance, and the massive doors of red lacquer-work groaned on their
hinges as they were slowly pushed open by half a dozen soldiers. We
found ourselves in a square yard, a kind of court of honour, with
avenues of trees many centuries old, giants and monsters in stone, and
canals fenced in with marble balustrades and arched by bridges. These
courts are divided by open galleries which lead to the central pagoda.
This square building contains the commemorative tablet, a monument cut
out of a single stone of about thirty feet high. The whole stands on a
colossal tortoise, larger than two elephants.
Immense cauldrons, big enough to cook a whole ox at a time, for
sacrificial purposes, are placed at short distances. Once a year a
great ceremony is held in honour of the Great Ancestor. On this
occasion the Emperor should be present in person, but for many years the
imperial court has been represented by ambassadors; and considering what
a journey from Pekin to Mukden involves, it is not surprising that the
sovereign is content to be present by proxy. I was told that the
mandarins selected to undertake this onerous pilgrimage are often
persons whose presence is not desired at Pekin. Their adventurous
journey often occupies many months, and often there have been cases in
which the envoys never returned at all.
The Great Ancestor was one of the founders of the Manchu dynasty in
China, and his real tomb is cut out in the heart of the mountain, but
the exact spot is unknown. We spent the greater part of the afternoon
among the tombs, and I made the best use I could of the permission to
sketch and to take photographs. But the most perfect apparatus, and the
pen of the most accomplished narrator, are bound to fail to do justice
to the reality. Art and nature are blended so exquisitely here that it
is impossible to give an adequate idea of the place. However beautiful
the individual monuments may be--and they are very beautiful--the real
charm of the ideal site lies in the perfect harmony of solitude and
peace.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO THE IMPERIAL TOMBS "The massive doors of
red lacquer-work groaned on their hinges" To face page 104]
On the return journey we again passed through the muddy, dreary
suburbs. Most of the houses along the dull, deserted roads, are built of
clay and covered with straw. Rough planks close the entrance, and from
the windows the rice-paper hangs down in tatters. We met several funeral
processions, the huge black coffins being carried in front.
I have forgotten to mention that cholera was raging in the town;
hundreds of people died daily, and the sanitary conditions of the place
were so wretched that nothing could be done to stop it. Considering the
manner in which the coolies live, it is only surprising that they do not
all succumb. On this account the authorities at first had been averse to
the idea of my visit to Mukden, but as there was smallpox in China and
typhoid fever in Korea, there did not seem much to choose between the
two; and, besides, I was firmly convinced that Providence would let me
finish the work I had undertaken to do.
The epidemic broke out three months ago, and had claimed many victims
among the Russian troops. The morale of the men was at a very low ebb in
consequence. Upon the coolies and the Manchus the effect was different.
Their innate fatalism teaches them to look upon death as a benevolent
friend, and as they bear away the coffins with the remains of their
loved ones, they look as unconcerned as if they were taking them to a
place of joy. All the small objects cherished by the dead are placed
upon the coffin to be burned at the grave-side, and when the smoke rises
up to heaven, popular superstition has it that all these objects assume
shape again in a higher sphere, for the gratification of their former
owners. It is only right, however, to add, that as the heirs are
solicitous to save anything that may be of value, counterfeits of the
real things, in paper or cardboard, are often substituted, and so the
_auto-da-fe_ takes place only in effigy.
Having been entertained at luncheon by the Chinese Governor, to make the
day complete I was the guest of the Russian Resident at dinner. We may
criticize the Muscovite system of government, we may censure the ways
and means employed by the Russian administration, but there is only one
opinion as regards Russian hospitality. No matter what quarter of the
globe one comes from, whether one be a political ally or a traditional
foe, a Russian never fails in the duties of hospitality. As long as the
guest is under his roof he is looked upon as a member of the family.
Host and hostess, in fact all the household, go out of their way to show
kindness to him. And it is all done on such a lavish scale! His room is
overheated, rugs and furs are wrapped round him whether he desires them
or not, and above all a special point is made of loading him with food
and drink at all hours of the day and of the night.
The Russian Residence, or Consulate, as it is still sometimes called
before the world, is a yamen like all other public buildings in China,
only perhaps a little more ruinous than those I saw in the morning. The
interior is greatly lacking in comfort and luxury. It gives rather the
impression of a camp than of a home; there is no furniture beyond what
is strictly necessary, and nothing has been done to make it pretty or
attractive. The only redeeming feature is the table, which appears to be
permanently set for meals. It is covered with quite as many little
dishes as the table of the Mandarin, but instead of fruit and
sweetmeats, they contain hors-d'oeuvres, such as caviare, herrings,
smoked salmon, cucumber, and all the innumerable varieties which compose
the famous national _Zakouska_. There was a perfect array of bottles on
the table; I do not remember ever seeing so many crowded on to one
table. There were wines from the Crimea, various liqueurs, and vodka.
During dinner the guests smoked perfumed cigarettes, and talked of their
family affairs and distant homes. It was difficult to realize that the
boundless plains of Siberia separated us from the banks of the Neva, for
the picture before me was so typically Russian, in all its variety of
shades and colours. I almost felt as if I were "in company with the
gentlemen" of Tourguenieff.
My visit to Mukden had certainly been full of interest. Not only the
town itself, its famous monuments, and its strangely superannuated
people, but the whole situation as it is at present, offers endless
scope for speculation. Chinese mandarins and Russian generals, Cossacks
and coolies, how oddly they are amalgamated in incoherent groups! What
developments may not the future have in store? Truly this is a
fascinating problem. Will Manchuria be more prosperous under the new
regime? Will the people be able to rise to a higher level? As I took
leave of the spot, now so desolate, where the mission settlement once
stood, I asked myself whether it would ever be rebuilt and whether men
would come forward to take the place of those martyrs who had sacrificed
their life in the cause of the orphans and forsaken children of China.
Casting one last lingering look upon the place, which I should probably
never see again, the dismal outline of the ruined bell-tower seemed to
rise up in pathetic protest against human intolerance and blind
persecution.
THE RETURN JOURNEY
The city of Mukden contained so much that was of interest to me, that my
stay there was prolonged beyond my original intentions. The Governor,
to whom I had related all the difficulties and discomforts of my
journey, very kindly placed a carriage at my disposal and gave me an
escort to see me safely back to the station. But perilous as the outward
journey had been, the return was no less full of various emotions.
It was a beautiful autumn day when I left the town. Nature seemed to be
making one last effort to assert the power of her charms before falling
into her winter sleep. As we passed through the precincts of the city,
the gardens literally glittered with colour. All imaginable shades, from
copper-tinted saffron to bronzed purple, were there displayed. These
gardens are certainly most beautifully cultivated. Presently we emerged
into the open plain, and now I had the opportunity, which I had missed
before, of forming some idea of the fertility of this privileged land.
Manchuria is undoubtedly one of the richest countries in the world. The
soil is excellent, the hills are thickly wooded, the mountains abound in
minerals. Along the route we passed farms where maize and beans seemed
to be chiefly cultivated, and all the people, men, women, and children,
were at work in the field.
The landscape is rather monotonous. We traversed a wide plain enclosed
by mountains which touch the horizon; but although the scenery cannot
be called picturesque, it is not devoid of a certain grandeur. It has a
charm peculiar to itself, an atmosphere of vague melancholy. All vast
plains, those of Egypt for instance, or of Rajputana, have this same
undefinable, intangible characteristic, of which one is faintly
conscious without being able to describe it. The people who live in such
a free atmosphere are naturally affected by it, and the Manchus possess
all the characteristics of a race inhabiting an exposed country.
The Manchu is attached to his native land; he loves to live in the open,
and is never so happy as when galloping across the endless plain or
hunting in the virgin forests. As we laboriously proceeded on the uneven
road, my fancy had full play, and I received new ideas and impressions
from these novel surroundings. Since I had explored the interior of the
country more carefully, my ideas about Manchuria had certainly undergone
a great change. Every now and then, however, my cogitations were rudely
interrupted as we jumped over ditches, crawled up or ran down the
inclines, and it was a wonder that my poor _tarantass_ was not smashed
in the attempt. It may be as well, perhaps, to give some idea of what a
_tarantass_ is like. Four small wheels, very far apart, and joined by
wooden axles, were fixed in the centre to a long pole, on which the
basket, in shape something between a boat and a bath, was fastened. The
vibration of this pole takes the place of springs, although it would be
incorrect to say that it performed the office of such civilized
improvements. But the pole kept the wheels and the basket together, and
this, after all, is an accomplishment to be proud of on the highroads of
Asia. My carriage was not drawn by mules this time, but I had three
horses harnessed abreast, in the Muscovite style. They were small
Cossack horses, with long manes and tails, slightly larger than Shetland
ponies, strong and lively. The middle one was somewhat bigger than the
two others; it could trot, while the ponies to the right and left of it
had to gallop all the time, their heads gracefully arched and held a
little to one side. The harness was most eccentric, and consisted of
straps without number, the use of which it was difficult to see, but the
silver-nailed mountings, studded in Eastern fashion, looked decidedly
picturesque.
My coachman was a Cossack, and evidently very much impressed with the
importance of his mission. About fifteen men formed the escort, their
white blouses and flat white caps forming a striking feature in the
landscape. They are good-natured, simple-minded folk, these mujiks, with
bright blue eyes, clear complexion, and a childlike expression. They are
evidently quite at home in this far-away country, for the ways of life
in their native land are primitive and patriarchal, and differ but
little from those in this foreign land. It is difficult to believe that
these men can ever be cruel, and in time of war commit the greatest
atrocities in cold blood and almost unconsciously. When the war is over
they at once make friends with the conquered people, and freely mix with
the yellow tribes. A little two-wheeled cart, containing provisions, and
with a young Cossack as driver, completed my escort.
If I were asked what were the most striking objects I passed on the
road, I should mention two pagodas, one of which is particularly
beautiful, seven storeys high, and richly carved. Monsters of Chinese
mythology and all the embellishments which the sickly imagination of
that ancient race could devise, have been lavishly represented upon it.
We also passed some remarkable commemorative stones--massive blocks,
resting on enormous tortoises--on which are inscribed the exploits of
the defunct heroes of the country. The many farms on our route testified
to the agricultural resources of the land, and the villages are not
without interest from a sociological point of view. The houses are very
shabby and dilapidated, but what amused me was the number of children
there were playing about. There did not seem to be room enough to
contain them all, and there were hardly any doors to be seen; the
population appears to jump out of the ground like mushrooms. We met
carts of various descriptions, pedestrians, strange equipages, and
stranger horsemen, and to finish up with, a mandarin travelling in
state. This personage was carried in a litter covered with embroidered
silk, and the luggage packed, in cases of wonderful lacquer-work, was
carried by his men on their backs. Suite and servants followed him in
single file, and all the emblems of his dignity, flags, Chinese
lanterns, umbrellas, and banners, with various inscriptions, were
carried before him. His Excellency was guarded by a detachment of native
soldiers, in crimson mantles with lozenge-shaped pieces of velvet let in
at the front and back, and elaborately embroidered with Chinese
characters. Of course, many of the details of this show were very
shabby. The canopy of the litter was torn and faded, the velvet of the
uniforms was caked with mud, the banners were in rags, and yet as a
whole it was one of the most artistic displays I have ever seen.
Asiatics certainly have the knack of making their pageants effective. A
mandarin of secondary order, visiting a functionary about equal in rank
to a tax-collector, has an escort of followers and soldiers amounting
to several dozen men, while the highest Western officials are content
with two footmen behind their carriage on grand occasions.
I have already said that the journey back to Mukden station was no
improvement on the journey thence, and yet, as I write these lines,
seated in my comfortable railway carriage, my adventure, now that it is
a thing of the past, seems like a dream to me. To make the story more
interesting I must begin at the end, namely, with the dramatic incident
of the journey, and tell how we only just escaped being kidnapped or
possibly killed by a band of brigands. Thanks to Providence, however, no
more serious harm was done to us than the fall of the _tarantass_ into
the swollen river, a compulsory bath in full uniform for some of the
Cossacks, various bruises and scratches, and a broken litter. The
intended attack was changed into flight, and the tragedy turned into a
comedy, to the satisfaction of all. I will briefly relate the facts.
When we arrived at the first village, the Cossacks declared that the
horses were thirsty, and that a halt was therefore necessary. They all
dismounted and hurried into the wayside inn, leaving me alone with the
horses. But as I could see neither well nor bucket, I could do nothing
for the poor beasts. After a while the men returned, and there was no
mistaking the state of affairs. If the horses had had no water, the men
had found plenty to drink. Presently we came to another village, and the
same thing occurred there, only this time they did not trouble to invent
any excuse, and never mentioned the thirsty horses. I need hardly say
that after each halt the conversation waxed more animated, and the
horses were pushed on more furiously. After the third stoppage the
situation became alarming. They no longer talked, but all shouted at
once, the clatter of their voices being intermixed with snatches of
popular songs, while the trot of the horses changed to a gallop.
I felt desperate, for I knew that I was quite powerless against the
inveterate national custom of these children of nature. They continued,
however, to behave well towards me, and treated me with the greatest
respect. They were only very hilarious, that was all. They shouted and
sang and waved their red kerchiefs as we sped along.
The last hamlet passed, and there being no further chance of obtaining
refreshment until Mukden station was reached, a steeplechase was
proposed across country, to the station. I cannot tell what distance we
thus covered, for the speed at which we went exceeded all my previous
experiences. The race over the uneven ground caused me many different
sensations. Across the plain it was rapid and exciting, and I fully
participated in the exhilaration of these wild children. Across the
cultivated ground it was pleasant enough for those on horseback, but to
me, in my _tarantass_, it was like being on the rack. But it was in
crossing the maize-fields that I suffered most.
The race increased in speed. Horses and men completely lost their heads,
and it was no longer a question of restraining them. The horses took the
bits between their teeth and simply went like the wind. We seemed to fly
over the ditches and tore through the reed hedges. Some of the animals
slipped and the men fell head over heels in the mud, while guns and
swords described glittering circles in the air. Finally, in trying to
clear a deep creek, one of the wheels of the provision-cart came off,
and all the contents were scattered. Then, to my joy, I saw looming in
the distance, like a haven of refuge, the miserable shed which is called
Mukden station.
I lay down at the bottom of the _tarantass_, with a feeling of
deliverance near at hand. I must explain that my straw seat had fallen
to pieces at an early stage of our mad race, so that the only way to
remain in the _tarantass_ was by lying down at the bottom and holding on
to the sides. But even this comparative degree of comfort was extended
to me for only a short time, for suddenly I received a terrible shock;
there was a grinding noise produced by the carriage, followed by an
exclamation from the driver, unintelligible to me; the sound of horses
struggling in the water; and finally I felt an icy wave dashing over me.
I thought I was drowning, and instinctively raised myself in my basket.
We were in the middle of a river which had overflowed its banks! My
little horses were half submerged. Some of the Cossacks were still in
the saddle; others were wading through the muddy stream up to their
waists in water. They were all in a state of great excitement, talking
and shouting, but all quite cheerful. Some were washing their scratches,
others struggling desperately to rescue their belongings, which were
floating away on the stream, and the horses, at last, with supreme
contentment, were able to drink their fill of the water so long withheld
and so fully deserved.
The steeplechase under ordinary conditions may be a noble sport and may
have its charm and many dangers, but it cannot be compared with such a
cross-country race in a _tarantass_, escorted by a detachment of
Cossacks. And yet, in spite of all, I am indebted to these hardy
companions, for their mad escapade and their wild merriment saved our
lives. Whilst in full career, with horses neighing, Cossacks shouting,
and swords flashing, we became aware of a body of men, who had
presumably been hiding in the bushes, escaping towards the distant
woods. Evidently they thought we were pursuing them, and they fled in
disorder. I learnt afterwards that it was a band of those Chunchuses who
have been the terror of the district for many years, and very likely the
same I met on my previous journey. Not long ago they kidnapped Mr.
Wetzel, the director of the East China Railway, whose adventures have
been described at length in the newspapers. He was carried into the
interior, underwent the most terrible tortures, and was on the verge of
losing his mind when his ransom arrived.
If my Cossacks had not indulged in that steeplechase my journey might
have had a tragic ending. Thanks to our furious riding, we startled the
band lying in wait for a prey; but if they had seen us quietly
proceeding like ordinary travellers along the highroad, they would
undoubtedly have attacked us; and I will therefore conclude with the
well-known proverb: "All's well that ends well."
V
PORT ARTHUR, DALNY, NIU-CHWANG, TIEN-TSIN
The country between Mukden and Port Arthur is the granary of Manchuria.
Rice, corn, and maize grow in great profusion, and there are from
thirty-five to forty different kinds of peas and beans. Chinese
agriculture is based on excellent principles. The system of irrigation
and the methods of working fully deserve our attention; but the
plentiful harvests are chiefly due to the remarkable mode of manuring.
The same piece of ground can yield several crops in rotation in one
year. It would seem that the land never requires to lie fallow.