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]