were the condemned prisoners, who were waiting for the Imperial decree
for their death to be brought on to the ground. We went in, and I
shall not easily forget the scene. There were fifteen criminals, of
whom one was a woman, one was a murderer; two, of whom the woman was
one, had stolen girls and sold them into the worst of all slavery;
the rest were highway robbers. The murderer was to be decapitated, it
being a severe punishment to a Chinese not to take his body out of the
world as his parents gave it to him. (It is this feeling that makes
them so averse to amputation.) The others were all to be strangled.
It is very strange to be talking with men who are to die within a few
minutes. Some of them were perfectly calm and collected, and came up
to talk with us and ask us questions, as if nothing was the matter.
One bright, intelligent-looking fellow came up to me and said, “Well,
I suppose you’ve come to see the fun.” The word he used was the same
that would be employed to signify the fun of a fair. “Do you have
this sort of fun in your country?” another said laughingly. “I wish
you would take me off with you.” We said we should only be too glad;
on which he smiled and said, “Ah! the law won’t let you do that.”
One very old man could not forget his Asiatic politeness, even _in
articulo mortis_. One of our party had asked a guard for a light for
his cigar. The guard either did not hear or did not pay attention; on
which the old fellow touched him and said, “What manners are these?
don’t you see the gentleman wants a light.” All, however, were not
so quiet. The murderer was raving and ranting drunk, howling out
every obscene blasphemy that he could think of against the Emperor.
The woman had been charitably given some drug, which, though it had
made her very sick, had deprived her of consciousness. Nothing could
exceed the kindness of the officials, one and all, to the condemned
men. They were giving them smokes out of their pipes, tea, and wine;
even the wretched murderer, who was struggling and fighting between
two soldiers, was only asked to “be quiet, be quiet,” in spite of all
provocation. The others were walking about the booth, their hands tied,
and a sort of arrow stuck behind their backs, bearing their name and
the crime for which they were to suffer, but otherwise uncontrolled.
They were all from one part of the country. I told you that the woman
had been drugged. This is a constant practice at executions. The most
famous drug for this purpose is the blood from under the red crest of
the crane, called by the Chinese “Ho ting hung.” This, or a medicine
purporting to be such, is sold at an immense price, and is said to be
carried by mandarins in one of the beads of their necklaces, in order
that if they incur the Emperor’s displeasure, they may have the means
of death at hand, for the crane’s crest-blood is a poison as well as
an anodyne. We gave all the cigars we had with us to the poor condemned
criminals, who were very grateful for them, and I was glad to leave so
painful a scene. A little farther down the street another large booth
had been erected. Here sat the high officials in a semicircle, with a
red-button mandarin from the Board of Punishments at their head. On one
side of this booth was a tiny sort of altar on which were displayed
the tools of the executioner—the swords and bloody string, and the
tourniquets and strings for strangling. In front of the altar a small
brick stove had been built, over which was a caldron of boiling water,
like a huge barber’s pot, to warm the swords. The executioner’s men
were huddled round it toasting their hands. The swords are short broad
blades, almost like choppers, with a long wooden handle on which is
carved a grotesque head. They have been above two hundred years in
use, and are regarded as genii and invested with preternatural powers.
They are five in number, and their names are Great Lord, second Lord,
third Lord, fourth Lord, and fifth Lord (Ta yeh, êrh yeh, san yeh, ssŭ
yeh, and wu yeh). When they are not in use they are kept at the chief
executioner’s house, a tower on the wall, where, as my teacher gravely
informed me, they are often heard at night to sing gruesome songs of
their past feats. When they are wanted their Lordships are “requested”
to come out.
The executioners have all sorts of stories and traditions about them.
One is supposed to be younger than the others, and of a skittish,
frolicsome nature, dallying and toying with the heads, not striking
them off at one blow like the others, who are older and more sedate.
There were many false alarms that the decree had come and announced the
fatal moment. But at last the chief headsman (Kwei-tzŭ-shou) came out,
and throwing off his fur coat put on a bloodstained apron of yellow
leather. He was a short, thick-set, but not ill-looking man, with that
curious, anxious, _waiting_ expression on his face that a man wears
with serious work before him. It was horrid to see how completely he
was the hero of the occasion, the soldiers round him treating him with
the greatest deference, and evidently proud of a word from him. The
five swords were carried in line near him. His assistant stripped his
outer coat, and then all was ready. So soon as the decree arrived the
prisoners were led out one by one to the booth where the mandarins
were sitting, and there made to go through the form of acknowledging
the justice of their punishment. They were then handed over to the
executioner. The headsman and his men had to beat back the other
soldiers with sticks in order to clear a space. Nothing could be more
indecent and revolting than the behaviour of the latter. All order and
discipline were at an end; they were like hounds yelling, snarling, and
struggling to tear a fox in pieces rather than men ostensibly employed
to keep the peace. The murderer was the first man brought forward.
Happily he had raved himself into a state of insensibility, so his
pains were over. The decapitation is done with marvellous speed. A
string is passed round the prisoner’s neck, close under the chin, and
his head is thus held up by the assistant so as to offer resistance
to the sword. When a mandarin is executed, the headsman meets him and
says, “Ching ta jên kwei ti̔en,” “I pray that your Excellency may fly
to heaven”—much as our executioners used to ask the pardon of their
victims. The man is made to kneel, in an instant the sword is raised,
the executioner gives a shriek supposed to represent the words “I have
executed a man” (Sha liao jên), and at one blow the head is severed
from the trunk and carried off to be inspected by the mandarins. As
the blow falls the people all cry out, “A good sword” (hao Tao),
partly in praise of the headsman’s skill, but more especially from a
superstitious feeling _um berufen_. The strangling is done with the
same merciful quickness. It is far less lengthy than hanging. Two
pieces of whip-cord are passed round the neck with a loop. The criminal
is placed with his face to the ground, and the two executioners turn
the tourniquet as quick as thought. Apparently there is no suffering.
As I passed the big booth on my way out—for you may imagine that when
I had seen how the matter was conducted I stayed for no more—I heard
a loud voice shout out a name. Immediately out of the shed where the
rest of the condemned were waiting, I saw a tall man walk out between
two others as leisurely and composedly as if he had been going to his
dinner. It was one of the young fellows with whom I had spoken so short
a time before. The last act of this horror is consummated in the _Pit
of the 10,000_ (Wan Jên K’êng) by the wolves and foxes, a pit in the
Chinese city where the bodies of executed criminals are thrown. Rich
people’s bodies are bought back by their families that they may receive
decent burial.
I was glad to see that the execution was conducted far more mercifully
than one is led to suppose by certain writers. It is true that this is
not the “Ling Chih,” or disgraceful slow death, which is the punishment
of parricide[10] and high treason. But an Englishman who has witnessed
that assures me that the criminal he saw so executed was put out of his
misery at once, and that the mutilation took place _after_ death and
not before. I was specially struck by the excessive kindness of the
soldiery to the criminals. The only sign of cruel disposition was the
eagerness with which they pressed forward to see the death. That was
revolting.
Of all the men who died that day not one appeared to be in the
slightest degree affected by the solemnity of his position, or to show
any apprehension for what was to follow. Where there was any emotion it
was simply abject terror of the immediate pain of dying. Beyond that
their thoughts did not seem to penetrate.
I must bring this letter of horrors to an end.
LETTER XX
PEKING, _20th January 1866_.
Since I last wrote we have all been leading the lives of vegetables
in our own garden; with a skating rink inside the Legation there is
no excuse for facing the wind and dust outside. We have the greatest
difficulty in keeping up our rink. The wind blows the dust on to
the ice in clouds, and the hot sun melts it in, so that nothing but
constant flooding will keep the ice going. This has been an unusually
dry season even for this driest of climates, so much so that a few days
ago a decree appeared in the _Peking Gazette_ directing five princes
of the blood to proceed to different temples, and offer up incense,
and pray for snow. The Emperor had a cold, or he would have gone
himself. The _Peking Gazette_, by the way, is a very curious little
publication. It appears daily in the form of a small pamphlet, and
is sold for a trifling sum. It is said to have been first published
in the time of the Sung dynasty, about seven hundred years before its
brother of London was born at Oxford. It contains the movements of the
court, Imperial decrees, petitions, memorials and the answers thereto,
appointments, promotions, rewards, etc. Some of the announcements are
very amusing. I give you one or two specimens. Some months ago, at the
storming of a town which was in the hands of the rebels, at the very
moment when a mine had been sprung, Kwan-Ti, the god of war, appeared
in all his majesty (it don’t seem quite clear who saw him), and by his
presence so encouraged the Imperialist troops that they rushed into the
breach with an ardour which carried everything before it, and sacked
the city. In gratitude for this, at the request of the high officials
of Shan Hsi, the Emperor directs the officers of the Han Lin (Imperial
college) and of the Nan Shu Fang (private Imperial library) to prepare
a tablet to be erected in some temple in Shan Hsi to commemorate the
divine interposition. Notice is sent by the authorities of Cheh Kiang
to the Board of Ceremonies and Rites that a widow in those parts,
being in uncontrollable grief for her husband’s death, and resolved
to preserve her fidelity to him, has committed suicide. Posthumous
honours are awarded to her for her great chastity. (To commit suicide
on the death of her husband is the highest virtue which a Chinese wife
can show. The streets of Peking are in many places crossed by wooden
triumphal arches called Pai Lo in honour of these chaste matrons. It
would seem, however, rather as if this extreme chastity were dying
out, for I don’t know one of these arches that is not in the last
stage of decay.) A taotai, governor of a city from down south, has
come up to Peking on business connected with the sulphur trade. Having
finished what he had to do, he reminds the Government that his father
was killed some years ago in the rebellion in Shan Hsi, and his body
never recovered. He represents that the old gentleman’s bones weigh
heavily upon him and make him feel very uncomfortable, and he suggests
that the Government might send him on a special mission to Shan Hsi to
try and recover these same bones, paying his expenses as a matter of
course. The Government, in reply to this, praise his filial piety,
enter into his views about the bones with enthusiasm, encourage him by
all means to try and find them, but positively decline to open their
purse-strings. Posthumous honours, canonisation, or deification, are
often recorded in the _Gazette_.
Old Hêng-Chi is the officer of the Tsung-Li Yamên charged with
negotiating a new commercial treaty with the Russians relative to the
Siberian and Mongolian trade. Whenever he is going to be particularly
obstructive he sends po-po (sweetmeats) to the Legation. Now I suppose
he is going to play the Russians some _tour pendable_, for he sent a
whole feast both to the minister and secretary of Legation. It was
very prettily arranged; the decoration of the dishes and piling of the
sweetmeats in patterns must have cost the cook a world of trouble. I
think I once before gave you an account of a Chinese feast given by the
same old gentleman, and I daresay you don’t wish a repetition of the
account any more than I do of the feast, though the things are not bad
once in a way. The bird’s-nest soup was very good, though it owes its
flavour to the condiments with which it is dressed, the nest itself
being as tasteless as isinglass, which it much resembles.
My teacher the other day gave me some original views as to the
outbreak of cholera which took place a few years ago. Various causes
were assigned for it. Some said that the epidemic was caused by the
exhalations from the dead bodies of those who were killed in the Ta̔i
Pi̔ng rebellion; others, that offence had been given to Wên Shên, the
spirit of pestilence, a deity who is represented with a blue face and
red hair and beard. He carries in his hand a disk, a spear, a sword,
or some warlike weapon. A man who has fallen into misfortune is said
to have met Wên Shên. To be “as ugly as the Lord Wên Shên” is what we
should translate by “to be as ugly as sin.”
We had rather a good piece of fun the other night. One of our ladies
of the _Corps diplomatique_ has started Thursday “at homes,” and all
the Europeans in Peking congregate there. Last Thursday some one or
other sat down and played a valse, upon which a tarantula bit the only
two ladies, and they declared they must and would dance, so Pichon,
the French attaché, and I were told off as partners for them. Just
as we were spinning round the room, in came three or four Chinese
servants with trays of cake and hot wine, which I thought they would
have dropped, so stupefied were they at the sight. I don’t think I ever
saw astonishment so written on faces before. I can fancy them talking
about it afterwards—Ai yah! There was his Excellency Mi (that’s me) and
Pi Lao Yeh seizing the two Ku-niangs (young ladies) round the waist in
the most indecorous manner, and running round and round the room with
them, while O Lao Yeh beat the harp-table. Indeed it was unsurpassable!
Strange people these barbarians!
Saurin and I had a visit from Mr. Thomas the day before yesterday.
He is famous in China as the converse of St. Matthew, having left
the Church to go to the Customs. Mr. Thomas is a linguist of some
pretensions. He speaks several European languages (including Russian),
Chinese, Japanese, and Mongol. He came out about two years ago as a
member of one of the Missionary Societies, but quarrelled with his
brother missionaries because he had the good sense to refuse to preach
in Chinese after being three months in the country. He then entered
the Chinese Customs service, and was stationed at Chihfu when I passed
by there in May last. However, he has now returned to the flock, and
is living with the other missionaries at Peking. Mr. Thomas has just
returned from a trip to Corea, which he undertook for purposes of
linguistic research, and we were greatly in hopes of hearing something
about that _terra incognita_. While Mr. Thomas was at Chihfu he was
able to be civil to two Corean merchants who had gone there to collect
debts. They were Christians, and brought open letters with them from
the Roman Catholic mission at Saoul, the capital of Corea, entreating
any Christians whom they might fall in with to treat them kindly. Mr.
Thomas took them to live with him, and commenced studying Corean under
their auspices. When they were about to return to their own country
Mr. Thomas accompanied them. He appears, however, to have seen little
or nothing. His landings were but for short walks, principally on
islands along the coast. He reached a point of the coast 25 miles from
Saoul, to which he intended to have gone in the disguise of a Corean
in mourning for his father and mother, the face completely covered by
a long veil, loose white clothes hiding the body, the costume being
completed by a hat with a brim about a yard and a half in diameter. The
wreck of his Corean junk prevented his effecting his purpose (possibly
luckily for him), and he was obliged to return to China in a Chinese
junk; so he underwent incredible hardships from hunger and dirt, and
great danger from shipwreck, to little purpose; what he acquired of
the language must have been through his two friends, and he can give
no account of the people, who must be a curious race. Not only are
they so exclusive that they forbid foreigners to enter their country,
but they prevent their own people from leaving it, as the Japanese
did; only certain privileged persons are allowed to come to China with
tribute to the Emperor or for trading purposes. There are plenty of
these in Peking at the present moment; they are distinguished by their
high hats and peculiar type; any Corean not belonging to this guild
who left his country would be decapitated on his return. It is strange
that, notwithstanding this rigid exclusiveness, the Roman Catholic
missionaries seem to live undisturbed at Saoul, where they are said to
have made many converts. They are obliged, however, to wear the Corean
mourning so as to hide their faces, and conform to the habits of the
country.[11]
The most important part of Mr. Thomas’ tale is a report that 250
Coreans have gone over the Amoor, and tendered allegiance to the
Russians. Of course Russia will have Corea sooner or later, but I think
that if this report were true we must have heard of it from other
sources.[12]
LETTER XXI
PEKING, _3rd February 1866_.
The mail day has come round again very quickly, so I am in hopes that
you are getting letters more regularly than I had led you to expect.
If the wonderfully warm weather we are enjoying now lasts, the river
must break up soon, and then we shall have regular mails again. On the
30th of January the thermometer stood at 40° Fahrenheit at midnight.
The Chinese are in great glee; after having consumed infinite amounts
of joss-stick in praying for snow, and sent out princes of the blood
to shiver in distant temples, and all in vain, the Emperor went out
one morning to pray on his own account, and on that very morning the
snow came. We took advantage of what has turned out to be the last
of the frost, for the present at least, to make an expedition to
Yuen-Ming-Yuen and skate on the lake. It was such a bright, pretty
scene—the lake was as clear as a sheet of glass, and the ice perfectly
transparent—not very good for skating, though, for the lotus plants do
not quite lie down. However, every now and then we came upon a hundred
yards square of marvellous ice, uncut by skates and free from dust.
A number of Chinese came to look at us; figure-skating astonished
them immensely, especially anything done going backwards. Some of
the natives skate after a fashion, but they are generally contented
with tying a skate on to one foot and pushing themselves along with
the other. It is said that skating used to form part of the Manchu
bannermen’s drill. We picnicked in one of the little pavilions in the
garden, and very jolly we were.
I went a few days ago, for the first time, to visit the Russian
missionary establishment (the head of which is the Archimandrite
Palladius), in the north-east corner of the Tartar city. It is
surrounded by a large open space; the air is fresh; there is no dust,
and above all there is immediate egress into the country without having
to cross miles of filthy streets. It is such a pity that the Legations
were not established up there in 1861. The mission consists of three
priests besides the chief; there is a day-school for twenty-four
children, whose parents are all Christians; indeed, the Archimandrite
told me that the neighbouring population were almost all converts.
The Russians have altogether a large congregation here, an important
element in which are the Albazines. The Albazines were originally a
small colony of Russian labourers, who settled at the little town of
Albazin on the Amoor. In the time of Alexis, father of Peter the Great,
the Chinese made war upon this little colony, and after a desperate
resistance on their part, which lasted about two years, conquered
them and took prisoners those whom they did not kill. On account of
the great bravery which they had shown, the survivors were carried
to Peking and made to serve as soldiers. Here they have lived to the
present time, having become Chinese in everything save in the matter of
their religion, which they have faithfully preserved. From father to
son they have been forced to serve as soldiers, and allowed to select
no other career. It is only recently that a decree has been issued
emancipating them from this rule, and permitting them to follow trade,
labour, or letters. There are probably not more than ten or fifteen
pure Albazine families left; but as they have intermarried freely
with the Chinese and Christianised their women, they largely swell
the Greek congregation. The carrying off of people on both frontiers
has been an old standing quarrel between China and Russia. It was to
settle questions of this sort that Peter the Great sent an embassy
to the Emperor Ka̔ng-Hsi. This embassy was the foundation of the two
Russian missions, that of the south being the present Legation, and
that of the north the Church mission. The southern mission was used
by the merchants of the caravans which used to arrive from Siberia
once in three years, to transact business between the two countries;
it has been recently rebuilt, all except the chapel, which dates from
Peter’s time, and which still bears the marks of an earthquake which
occurred in the middle of the last century. The Archimandrite told me
that when he first came to Peking twenty-five years ago there was no
more difficulty in holding intercourse with the people than there is
at present. The priests of the mission could not go beyond the Great
Wall in one direction, nor as far as Tientsing in the other; but this
was owing to the mandarins, who always were, and probably always will
be, obstructive. The people were friendly enough; those who did not
know them, seeing strangely dressed figures with fair beards and hair
for the first time, took them for Manchu Tartars; so even now it often
happens that we Europeans are taken for Mongols by the Chinese who have
seen neither race.
I was talking the other day to my teacher about Lord Palmerston and
his wonderful strength of body and mind. He was greatly interested,
and cited two instances in Chinese history of statesmen who were
flourishing and vigorous after eighty years of age. The first case he
mentioned was that of the minister Liang, who, in the reign of the
Empress Wu-Tseih-Ti̔en of the Tang dynasty (seventh century A.D.),
obtained the highest literary degree, and became premier at the age of
eighty-two. The second case he cited was more legendary.
Wên Wang, father of Wu Wang, the first Emperor of the Chou dynasty
(and a contemporary of Saul, King of Israel), dreamt a dream, and
in his dream he saw a beast that was like a boar and yet like a man,
and it had wings and flew. Now when he awoke he was sorely troubled
in his heart, because he could not read the meaning of his dream;
so he sent for the court seer, and the court seer told him that the
interpretation of his dream was, that he should have a wise and crafty
councillor. When Wên Wang heard this, he immediately sallied forth in
his chariot to seek for this wise man, and he took with him his two
sons. After many days he came to a river called Wei-Shui-Ho, and by
the side of the river was an old man fishing. The name of this old man
was Tai Kung, and during the reign of the wicked Emperor Chou-Hsin he
had lived in a cave in a mountain, cultivating learning. When Wên Wang
saw the old man he told his sons to descend from the chariot and ask
him the road. But the old man went on with his fishing, and answered
them, saying, “Behold the little fishes have come to me, but the big
fish stops away.” Now when this oracular answer was told to Wên Wang he
immediately knew that this must be the wise man that was promised to
him in his dream, for the old man’s saying was a reproach to him that
he had not himself gone down, as manners required, but sent his sons
instead. So Wên Wang invited Tai Kung to get into his chariot, and he
carried him off and made him his chief minister. At that time Tai Kung
was eighty years old and more. When Wên Wang died Wu Wang treated Tai
Kung with the honours due to a father, for it was by his wise counsels
that the dynasty became strengthened in the kingdom. He lived to nearly
a hundred years of age, and at his death he became a spirit, and many
say that he is now the captain of all the spirits, and assigns to each
his particular place and duties.
The above is a word for word translation of the story of Tai Kung as my
teacher told it me.
LETTER XXII
PEKING, _8th February 1866_.
I expect this will reach England with the bag that was despatched last
Saturday; at any rate it will give you a few days later news; I have
but little to say.
The student interpreters gave a second theatrical representation on
Monday. The pieces were “Our Wife” and “To Paris and back for £5.” To
my mind the most amusing part of the entertainment was to watch the
faces of the Chinese servants at the back, who, not understanding a
word, were deeply interested in the performance, and said that it was
very beautiful, especially the first piece, in which the makeshifts
for Louis XIII. dresses charmed them much. The ladies stood on an
average 5 feet 10 inches in their stockings, and had blue marks where
whiskers and beards had been shaved off in the morning; but in spite
of all drawbacks, everybody agreed that there never had been and never
could be such a success—which has always been said of every private
performance I ever witnessed.
No one could believe that we are ice-bound here. Yesterday the
thermometer at 2 P.M. stood at 84° in our courtyard; at eight in the
morning it had been down to 22°, a difference of 62°! The Chinese
complain bitterly of the heat. The Emperor was to go again to pray for
snow to-day, and the _Peking Gazette_ publishes an article from one of
the Imperial advisers, stating that the want of snow must be ascribed
to the anger of heaven on two accounts: 1st, undue severity on the part
of minor officials in the Board of Punishments; 2nd, the number of
bodies killed in the rebellion and still lying unburied.