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.