We have received bad Chinese news. Sangkolinsin, the Mongol chief who commanded at the Peiho in 1859, and was temporarily disgraced for not being able to beat off the allies in 1860, has been killed by the rebels in the province of Shantung, some 400 miles hence. He was reputed a brave soldier and an honest man. Although the Chinese affect to disregard the importance of the intelligence, there is no doubt that it is very serious. The fire is burning everywhere, and they cannot or will not take the proper means to put it out.
Note.—I should wish to add here one word of admiration and respect for the memory of Sir Thomas Wade, my first chief in China. He had been Lord Clyde’s adjutant, but gave up the army for diplomacy. A great student and master of many languages, his Chinese scholarship won the admiration even of the learned mandarins with whom he had to deal. During the two Chinese Wars he distinguished himself, not only by his great abilities as a negotiator, but also by the most dauntless courage. Generous and self-sacrificing to a fault, he was one of the greatest gentlemen I ever met.—1900.
LETTER V
Peking, 1st June 1865.
When Wade was in England last year Lord Stanley said to him: “Peking’s a gigantic failure, isn’t it? not a two-storied house in the whole place, eh?” To Lord Stanley’s practical eye, no doubt, it might be a failure, but an artist would find much to admire and put on paper.
Pe-king, which means the northern capital, as Nan-king means the southern, consists of two cities, the Chinese and the Tartar, and within this latter, again, is the Imperial city, which contains the palace and precincts of the court. Both cities are surrounded by walls of dark-gray brick; those of the Tartar city are fifty feet high, forty feet wide at the top, and about sixty feet below; the walls of the Chinese city are less important, being only thirty feet high. These walls have battlements and loop-holes for guns. That of the Chinese city has fallen into decay, but that of the Tartar is more carefully repaired. At intervals are lofty watch-towers standing out against the sky. High towers stand also above the gates, which are closed at sunset, after which time ingress and egress are forbidden.
The streets are broad roads, in most cases unpaved, and in all uncared for. They are flanked on each side by shops and low houses, but their breadth is lessened by the countless stalls and stands of hucksters of all sorts that take them up often in quadruple rows. In this region of dust and dirt the streets are equally filthy summer and winter. Both in the Chinese and Tartar cities there are large open spaces and buildings standing in their own grounds, covering areas of many acres. In the former city these are the temples of the Buddhist and Taoist religions, in the latter they are the palaces of the Emperor and persons of distinction. These grounds, planted as they are with lofty trees, give a great beauty to the town, and often in the heart of either city there are spots which are pictures of village life. Standing among these groves of trees the brilliant colours and fantastic designs of the Chinese architecture have a wonderfully pleasing effect. The wall of the imperial palace, covered with highly glazed yellow tiles, with towers at the corners shining like gold in the sun, is especially striking. Whichever way one turns there is something grotesque and barbarous to be seen, and the signs of decay and rot do not detract from the picture. In fact Peking is like a vast curiosity shop, with all the dust and dirt which are among the conditions of bric-à-brac. It would be pleasant-looking and admiring were it not for the difficulties of riding through the city owing to the enormous crowds which block the way—carts, porters, camels, chairs, pedlars, beggars, lamas, muleteers, horse-copers from Mongolia, archers on horseback, mandarins with their suites, small-footed women, great ladies in carts, closely veiled to keep off the gaze of the profane vulgar. In short, every variety of yellow and brown humanity, not to speak of dogs and pigs, get into one’s path at every moment, and raise clouds of dust, which fill eyes, ears, hair, mouth, and nose, and temporarily destroy every sense save that of touch. It is as if the dust of all the Derby days since the institution of that race (by the bye I wonder what horse has won it this year) had been borne by the winds to find a permanent home here. A dust-storm in the north of China is a natural phenomenon. Clouds draw over the sky as if a thunderstorm was going to burst. In my inexperience the first time I saw this I expected rain to fall, but instead of rain there came a fine dust penetrating everything and not to be shut out by door or window. This nuisance, which comes to us from the great Mongolian deserts, besides hurting the eyes as common dust by filling them with extraneous matter, has chemical properties which produce a smarting and burning pain. Dust-storms are sometimes so thick that men lose their way as in a London fog. It is indeed “a darkness that may be felt.”
The distance round the walls of Peking is something like twenty-three miles, of which fifteen must be given to the Tartar city, which is square in shape and lies to the north of the oblong Chinese city. Tradition, and the mystery which for so many years hung over the capital, have assigned to it an exaggerated population. The Chinese affected to believe it contained two million souls, and that no capital in the world could compete with it. This may have been the case in the time of the Emperor Chien-Lung, who reigned from 1736 to 1795 a.d. But nowadays, judging from the enormous empty spaces, and from the gardens and courtyards, which no gentleman’s residence is without, and even allowing for the dense crowding of some quarters, it probably does not reach a million. It is impossible to form any precise estimate of the numbers of the “Doors and Mouths.” Doctors disagree, and I have heard the people of Peking reckoned at various figures, from six hundred thousand to a million and a half. Until Peking was opened to Europeans the southern Chinese used to stick at no lie about it. For instance, if they were told of some great scientific invention such as railways, the electric telegraph, or the like, they would say at once with the utmost coolness, “Have seen! Have seen! Have got plenty Peking side!” And in like manner they lied about its size and population. The country round about Peking seems to be very thickly peopled. I was prepared to find it so, but nevertheless I had hardly expected to see so many human beings and their traces, which are often very unpleasant, especially in China.
Our Legation is situated in the southern part of the Tartar city. We occupy a most picturesque palace called the Liang Kung Fu, or Palace of the Duke of Liang, which, like all Chinese buildings of importance, covers an immense space of ground. There are courtyards upon courtyards, huge empty buildings with red pillars, used as covered courts, state approaches guarded by two great marble lions, and a number of houses with only a ground floor, each of us inhabiting one to himself. When the Legation first came to live here the whole place was put into repair, and redecorated in the Chinese fashion with fluted roofs of many colours, carved woodwork, kylins of stone and pottery, and all the thousand and one fancies with which the Chinese cover their buildings. Unfortunately the repairs were badly executed, and nothing further has been done to keep matters straight, so the Legation, which ought to be as pretty as possible, is really a disgrace to us. The gardens are a wilderness, the paving of the courts is broken, the walls are tumbling down, and the beautiful place is going to rack and ruin. In this climate of extreme heat and cold a stitch in time saves ninety-nine.[6] Fancy a residence in the heart of a great and populous city where foxes, scorpions, polecats, weasels, magpies, and other creatures that one expects to find in the wild country, abound. That will give you an idea of how space is wasted in Peking. The great drawback to our palace is its situation. We have more than an hour’s ride before we can escape from the city and its stinks, to breathe a breath of fresh air. It requires an immense exercise of energy to face an hour’s ride through the streets of Peking in order to get a canter in the open; and I am often half tempted to sell my pony and dismiss my groom, but this would be tantamount to shutting myself up for good in the Legation, for walking at Peking is even more disagreeable than riding.
His Imperial Highness the Prince of Kung, President of the Council, Chief of the Board of Foreign Affairs, Prime Minister, and what not besides, sent his card yesterday to announce to Wade that he would pay him an official visit. I enclose you his visiting card.