HANGCHOW[10]
A journey of 150 miles to visit friends in the ancient city of Hangchow
required no other preparations than the hire of a boat and the engaging
of a servant, who I was compelled to dismiss a few days later for gross
dishonesty. 2755 steam launches, owned and run by Chinese, towing 7889
passenger boats, carrying 605 foreign and 125,000 native passengers,
entered and cleared in 1897 between Hangchow, Shanghai, and Soochow.
Every evening one of these launches, towing a long string of native
boats, leaves the Soochow creek below the British Consulate for the new
treaty ports, opened as such only in 1896. My small bamboo-roofed boat,
in which I could just stand upright, much decorated in the tawdry style
of Chinese fourth-class fancy, and through which irremediable draughts
coursed friskily, was the contemptible final joint of a tail of nine
quaint and picturesque passage junks and family house-boats, a varnished
procession of high-sterned, two-storeyed, many-windowed arks, squirming
and snaking along at the stern of a noisy, asthmatic tow-boat. There
were red flags flying, gongs crashing out dissonance, crackers
exploding, poles with clothes drying on them pushed out of windows,
incense sticks smouldering, and reports of firearms; and with this
cheerful din, the usual accompaniment of Chinese movement, we started in
the red twilight.
I paid six dollars for my boat with three men, and five dollars fifty
cents for towage, about 23_s._
All day long the life on the two-storeyed open-sterned boat in front of
mine was exposed to view. It was occupied by three generations, nine
souls in all, under the rule of a grandmother. They rose early, lighted
the fire and their incense sticks, kotowed to an idol in a gilded
shrine, offered him a small bowl of rice, and cooked and ate their
morning meal. The smell of their cooking drifted for much of the day
into my boat, and “broth of abominable things was in their vessels.” The
man sat in the bow smoking and making shoes. The grandmother lived below
in blissful idleness and authority. The wife, a comely, healthy,
broad-shouldered woman, with bound feet, worked and smoked all day, and
contrived to steer the boat as she stooped over the fire or the wash-tub
by holding its heavy tiller under her arm or chin or pressing her knee
against it. Four young children lived a quiet life on a broad high
shelf, from which they were lifted down for meals. A girl of thirteen
helped her mother slightly. Cooking, washing, mending, eating, and
watching my occupation with far less interest than I watched theirs,
filled up their day. Evening brought fresh kotowing and burning of
incense sticks, the opium lamp was lighted, the man passed into elysium,
and they wrapped themselves in their wadded quilts and slept till
sunrise.
I learned their habits and knew their few “plenishings,” and perhaps, as
they stared persistently at me, they were wondering how much I earned a
day by writing and sewing, a question of much speculative interest to
the Chinese.
The country looked inviting in the first flush of early spring,
although, like our own fens, it is a dead level. Houses, villages,
mulberry plantations, temples, groves, large farmhouses, shrines, and
_Pai fangs_ succeeded each other rapidly. Great lilac clusters of
wistaria bloom hung over the water from every tree, the beans were in
blossom, and the greenery was young and fresh. At times our curiously
twisting procession passed through ancient water-streets of large
cities, with the inevitable picturesqueness given by deep eaves,
overhanging rooms and balconies, steep flights of stone stairs, and rows
of armed junks full of soldiers or river police in brilliant, stagey
uniforms. Several times we were delayed for an hour or more by the
difficulty of getting through the crowded river streets _en route_.
I have since learned by experience that China is a land of surprising
bridges, but at that time it amazed me that we entered nearly every city
under a fine arch, from fifteen to thirty feet in height, formed of
blocks of granite cut to the curve of the bridge, the roadway attaining
the summit by thirty-nine steps on each side. Or there are straight
bridges, the piers being monoliths thirteen feet high, and the roadway
massive blocks of stone thirty feet long.
Part of the route is along the Grand Canal, that stupendous work,
wonderful even in its dilapidation, which connects Hangchow with
Tientsin. This part of it, which connects Imperial Hangchow with the
flourishing port of Chinkiang on the Yangtze, was cut in 625 A.D., but
never mapped till the work was undertaken by our own War Office in 1865.
If the “nine thousand barks conveying tribute to the emperor,” as
described by an ancient writer, no longer crowd its waters, I can
testify that at the points where I touched it, such as Chinkiang, the
laden fleets were so vast as to leave only a narrow lane of water
available for traffic, and that on arriving at Tientsin from Tungchow my
boat took two days and a half to make its way through the closely-jammed
mass of cargo and passage boats at the terminus.
The neighbourhood of the Grand Canal, which suffered terribly in the
Taiping Rebellion, has recovered itself, and is again yielding its great
harvests of rice and silk, the inexhaustible fertility of the Great
Plain having effaced every trace of destruction. If the Grand Canal
since the dilapidation caused by the outbreak of the Yellow River in
1851 is far less valuable for through traffic than it was, it is still
of immense importance as an artery for the commerce of the great
provinces through which it passes. Lu Yew, a much-travelled mandarin of
the twelfth century, the translated account of whose journey from
Shanjin near Ning Po to Kueichow on the Upper Yangtze is a fascinating
bit of literature, writes that at the sluice gates “the concourse of
vessels was packed together like the teeth of a comb,” and so it is
still in certain places. The bridges which span this canal are among the
most striking and beautiful in all China—single arches, sometimes 220
feet in span and 30 feet in height, piles of massive masonry, with
massive decorations wherever any deviation has been permitted from the
ordinary stately simplicity.
Seven centuries ago Lu Yew commented on the remarkable industry of the
population of this region, and noted that “both banks near the villages
are covered with waterwheels pumping up the water, women and children
alike exerting all their efforts, cattle in some cases being also at
work.” The heredity of industry is still manifest. Not an idler was to
be seen along river or canal. Every agricultural operation of the season
was being carried on vigorously, even children of seven years old were
carrying agricultural burdens on their shoulders. Women with robust
infants strapped on their backs had their hands busy with the distaff,
while working the waterwheels with their feet; and all along the
waterways fishermen were busy with their great bamboo plunge nets. Lu
Yew mentions the women as employed with both waterwheel and distaff in
the twelfth century.
On the morning of the second day from Shanghai the steam launch cast off
her tail at the mouth of a narrow canal overarched with trees, up which
my boat moved silently as far as a “lock,” by which we mounted into a
broad waterway leading direct into Hangchow, encircling it on three
sides and connected with other navigable canals, spanned by picturesque
stone bridges, and giving easy access to most parts of the interior of
the city.
That which I have called a “lock,” properly a _pah_ or “haulover,” is an
ingenious contrivance by which the difficulty of “negotiating” different
levels in the same boat is skilfully adjusted. The illustration shows
the principle and the mode of applying it in Chekiang, but various
methods are adopted. The essential parts of the contrivance, as shown
here, are a smooth stone slide, from the higher to the lower level, the
middle of which is thickly coated with moist mud, two stout and tall
uprights, two rude wooden windlasses, and stout bamboo ropes with strong
iron hooks. In ascending, the boat is wound up to the higher level by a
number of men at the windlasses, and in going down she is drawn to the
verge and tipped over, descending with great velocity by her own
impetus, the restraining rope at her stern scarcely moderating the
violence of the plunge with which she takes a header into the water
below, when everything not securely fastened breaks adrift, and a lather
of foaming water surges round the surprised passenger’s feet. A few
_cash_ are charged for the transfer.
[Illustration: A _PAH_, OR HAULOVER.]
I thought the canal entrance to Hangchow grand, although below the high
blank walls of large private residences the grassy slopes are the resort
of unpleasantly active pigs searching, and not vainly, for offal. The
gunboats, or police junks, with their striped blue and white canopies
and brilliant crews, and the lofty bridges are pleasing to the eye. At
one of the latter Dr. Main, for eighteen years a C.M.S. missionary
doctor in Hangchow, met me, and I was carried through a populous and
dirty quarter, through a door in a high wall, and under a trellis from
which hundreds of lilac wistaria clusters were hanging, into a large
enclosure, partly lawns and partly rose borders, with an old-fashioned
English house on one side, and on the other two the fine two-storeyed
buildings of two of the crack hospitals of the East, with their
outgrowths of leper hospitals for men and women, a home for leper
children, and an opium refuge. It was a bewildering change from the
crowds, dirt, and sordid bustle of the lower parts of a Chinese city to
broad, smooth, shaven lawns, English trees and flowers, English
buildings with their taste and completeness, and the refined quiet of an
English home.
This most ancient city, situated on the left bank of the shallow Ch’ien
T’ang river, of which a magnificent description is given by Marco Polo
under the name of Kinsai, though it has not fully recovered from the
destruction wrought by the Taiping troops, is still handsome and
dignified, and to my thinking, with its lovely environs, is the most
attractive of the big Chinese cities.
It is certainly one of the most important, as the capital of the rich
and populous province of Chekiang, the centre of a great silk-producing
district, and of the manufacture of the best silks, the sole source of
the silk fabrics supplied to the Imperial Household, the southern
terminus of the Grand Canal, and a great centre of Chinese culture and
literature. It possesses the Ting Library, the finest private library in
China, appropriately housed in buildings adjoining the “palace” of the
Ting family. The arrangements for the storage and classification of
books are admirable, and a very gentlemanly and intelligent son of the
enlightened possessor is the enthusiastic and capable librarian. The
treasures of this library are open freely to anyone who introduces
himself by a card from an official. The collection of zoological and
botanical books, superbly illustrated in the best style of Chinese wood
engraving, is in itself a noble possession. Every part of a plant is
figured, and the illustrations are almost photographically accurate,
leading one to hope that the letterpress accompanying them has equal
scientific merit!
Hangchow is also important as a “residential” city, the chosen home of
many retired merchants and mandarins. The homes, frequently palaces, of
men of leisure and local patriotism adorn its streets, but their stately
proportions and sumptuous decorations are concealed from vulgar view by
high whitewashed walls, in which heavily-barred and massive gates give
access to the interiors. The mansion of the Ting family, in which I took
“afternoon tea,” with its lofty reception-rooms, piazzas, and courts,
must cover two acres of ground. It is stately, but not comfortable, and
the richly-carved blackwood chairs with panels of clouded grey marble
for backs and seats, and table centres of the same, seem only fitted for
the noon of a midsummer’s day. Besides the dwellings of the “leisured
class” there are those of high officials, bankers, and wealthy tea and
silk merchants, many of them extremely magnificent, the cost of one
built by a wealthy banker being estimated at £100,000.
[Illustration: WEST GATE, HANGCHOW]
I wrote of dirt and sordid bustle. This is chiefly by the waterside, and
is not surprising in a city of three-quarters of a million of
inhabitants. The “west-end” streets are, however, broad, light, well
flagged, and incredibly clean for China. Hangchow impresses one with a
general sense of well-being. I did not see one beggar. The people are
well clothed and fed, and I understood that except during epidemics
there is no abject poverty. It is the grand centre for the trade of a
hundred cities, and much of the tea and silk sold in Shanghai and Ningpo
passes through it.
Everything in the city and neighbourhood suggests silk. In all the
adjacent country the mulberry tree is omnipresent, planted in every
possible place along the creeks, on the ridges separating the fields, in
plantations, acres in extent, and near villages, in nurseries each
containing several thousand shoots, in expectation of a greatly
increased demand for this staple product. There are 7000 handlooms for
the weaving of silk in Hangchow, employing about 28,000 people, and 360
of these looms under the inspection of an Imperial Commissioner work
exclusively for the Imperial Household.
Some of the silk shops rival that of Laou Kai Fook at Shanghai. In them
are rich self-coloured silks in deep rich colourings and the most
delicate shades, brocaded washing silks in various shades of indigo
dyeing, and delicate mauves and French greys, which become more lustrous
every time they are washed, heavy and very broad satins, plain and
brocaded, and, what I admire more than all, heavy figured silks in
colourings and shades unknown to us sold for Chinese masculine dress,
and brocaded with symbolical bats, bees, spiders, stags’ heads, dragons
for mandarins’ robes, and the highly decorative characters representing
happiness and longevity. These quaint and beautiful fabrics are not
exported to Europe, and are not shown to Europeans unless they ask for
them. Fans exported to all parts of the empire are another great
industry, and provide constant work for many thousand people. Elaborate
furniture, silk and gold embroidering, and tinselled paper money for
burning, to supply the dead with the means of comfortable existence, are
also largely manufactured in this thriving capital.
The situation of Hangchow is beautiful, separated only by a belt of
clean sand from the bright waters of the Ch’ien T’ang river. The
south-western portion is built on a hill, from which broad gleams of the
sea are visible; and to the west, just outside the walls, is the Si Hu
[Western Lake], famous throughout China, a lovely sheet of water,
surrounded by attractive country houses, temples, and shrines, studded
with wooded islands connected by ancient and noble causeways, the
islands themselves crowned with decorative pavilions, some of which are
Imperial, and are surrounded by the perfection of Chinese gardening, as
in the case of the beautiful Imperial Library, with its ferneries,
rockeries, quaint ponds, and flowering shrubs. This lovely lake, with
its deep, wooded bays and inlets, its forest-clothed hills and ravines,
its gay gondolas and pleasure boats, and its ideally perfect shores,
which I saw over and over again in the glorious beauty of a Chinese
spring, mirrors also in its silver waters a picturesque range of hills,
bare and breezy, close to the city, on which stands, in an imposing
position, a very ancient pagoda, while the lower hill-slopes are clothed
with coniferous trees, bamboo, plum, peach, cherry, camphor, azalea,
clematis, roses, honeysuckle, and maple. Near the lake is a deep, long
dell, the cliffs of which are recessed for stone images, and which
contains several famous temples, one the temple of the “Five Hundred
Disciples,” who, larger than life-size, adorn its spacious corridors.
The temples and shrines of this beautiful glen are visited daily by
crowds from Hangchow, and have such a reputation for sanctity and
efficacy as to attract 100,000 pilgrims annually. The dell is guarded by
two colossal figures, under canopies, the gods of Wind and Thunder, very
fine specimens of vigorous wood carving, and by an antique pagoda.
Hangchow is also famous for the phenomenon of the “Hangchow bore,” seen
at its best at the change of the monsoon, when an enormous mass of tidal
water, suddenly confronted by the current of the river, uplifts its
foaming crest to a height of from fifteen to twenty feet, and with a
thunderous roar and fearful force rages down the narrow waterway as fast
as a horse can gallop, affording a welcome distraction to the sightseers
of Shanghai.
[Illustration: PAVILION IN IMPERIAL GARDEN, SI-HU.]
[Illustration: GOD OF THUNDER, LIN-YANG.]
Hangchow is enclosed by a wall faced with hewn stone, about thirteen
miles in circumference, from thirty to forty feet high, from twenty to
thirty feet broad, and pierced by ten large gateways with massive gates.
The houses are mainly two-storeyed. The business streets blaze with
colour; the principal street is five miles long. The population,
estimated at 700,000, cruelly diminished during the Taiping Rebellion,
is rapidly increasing. The officials, merchants, and common people are
unusually friendly to foreigners, who, before the recent opening of the
port, were all missionaries. The cry “Foreign devil!” is never heard.
Mr. Sundius, our consular officer, considers that these very
satisfactory relations are due to the greater prosperity of the people,
in consequence of the increased foreign demand for silk, and to the
success of the exertions of the missionaries to win their respect and
esteem.
The new general and Japanese settlements are in an excellent position on
the Grand Canal, four miles from the city wall. They are nearly a mile
in length by half a mile in depth, and have a fine road and a bund sixty
feet wide, hereafter to be turfed. The Japanese, who opened the port
with their swords, have not been in any hurry to occupy it. It will be
interesting to see how far foreigners will take advantage of the
opening, and settle in this, one of the friendliest and most attractive
of the Chinese cities. There is a well-known Chinese proverb, “Above is
heaven, below are Hangchow and Suchow.”