Emerging from the building, we walked along by the low wall and carved balustrade bounding the water, towards the side above which stood the Empress‐Dowager’s temple. At the corner of the lake was a gateway, at which stood a guard of Bersagliere, clad in white with cocks’ feathers fluttering gaily in their tropical helmets. The Italians, as I have said, were joined with the English in the charge of the Summer Palace. Returning the sentry’s salute, we passed on and found a roofed and open‐pillared gallery running along beside the lake. Its shelter was grateful in the burning sun; for the breeze was cut off by the hill that rose almost perpendicularly above us. The slender, wooden columns supporting the tiled roof were painted in brightly coloured designs. On the cornices were miniature pictures of conventional Chinese scenery. Here and there the gallery widened out or passed close to pretty little summer‐houses built above the wall of the lake. We reached the square white mass of masonry on which stood the temple. Before it massive gates, guarded by bronze lions, opened on a broad staircase leading to the foot of the substructure. But reserving the sacred edifice, which towered above us at an appalling height, for a later visit after lunch, we passed on around the lake until we reached the strangest construction in the Summer Palace.
THE MARBLE JUNK[page 127
One of the former Empresses, whose life had been passed far from the sea, complained that she had never beheld a ship. So a cunning architect was found, who built in the lake close to the bank an enormous marble junk. The hull, which has ornamented prow and stern and small paddle‐boxes, rests, of course, on the bottom. On the deck he erected a large two‐storied pavilion; but as the Chinese are seldom thorough, this he constructed of wood painted to look like marble. It formed an ideal and picturesque summer‐house, for the sides, between the pillars, were open or closed only by blinds. But at the time of our visit it looked dismally dilapidated; for the paint was blistered and peeling off. The Marble Junk resembles a white house‐boat at Henley, and at a little distance across the water looks quaint and graceful. Close to it, spanning a small stream that runs into the lake, is a lovely little covered bridge with carved white marble arches and parapets. Venice can boast no more perfect gem of art on its canals.
Our conductor, looking at his watch, tore us from our contemplation of this masterpiece and insisted on our returning to the mess for lunch. And in the pavilion where the powerless monarch of a mighty empire had lain a helpless prisoner, a victim to the intrigues of his own family, British officers sat at table; and the conversation ranged from the events of the campaign to sport in India or criticisms of the various contingents of the Allied Army.
A recent occurrence, thoroughly typical of the readiness with which the Court party snatched at every opportunity to “save face,” was alluded to. The British Minister in Pekin, at the humble request of Li Hung Chang, who was negotiating about the return of the Summer Palace to the Chinese, had removed the Field Battery garrisoning it to the capital. An Imperial Edict was immediately issued, which stated in grandiloquent terms that the Emperor had ordered this removal. Sir Ernest Satow, who was fast proving himself a far stronger man than had been anticipated and well fitted to cope with Oriental wiles, promptly commanded the return of the battery as the fitting answer to this impudent declaration. It was almost the first strong action taken by our diplomats in a wearisome series of “graceful concessions”; and great satisfaction was occasioned among the officers of the British forces, who hailed it as a hopeful prelude to a firmer policy.
After lunch we ascended the tree‐clad hill on which stood the Hall of Ten Thousand Ages. From the summit a beautiful view over the surrounding country was obtained. Below us was the confused jumble of yellow‐roofed buildings that constituted the residential portion of the Summer Palace. At our feet lay the gleaming lake, hemmed in by its white marble walls, the tiny island united to the shore by the graceful arches of the long bridge. The bright roof of the pretty little pavilion on it shone in the brilliant sunlight. Along the far bank stretched a tree‐shaded road that ran away to the right until lost in thick foliage or fertile fields. A thin line marked the crowded highway to the capital. The plain was dotted with villages or lay in a chessboard‐pattern of cultivation interspersed with thickets of bamboos or dense groves of trees. Far away the tall towers of the walls of Pekin rose up above the level sea of roofs, broken only by the lofty buildings of the Imperial city, the temples or the residences of the Europeans in the Legation quarter. Over the capital a yellow haze of smoke and dust hung like a golden canopy. Away to the right lay a long stretch of dark and sombre hills, among which nestled the summer residence of the members of the British Legation. Here in the hot months they hie in search of cooling breezes not to be obtained in the crowded city.
The grandiloquently named Hall of Ten Thousand Ages was a rectangular, solidly constructed building with thick walls. But inside a sad scene of ruin met our eyes. Enormous fragments of shattered colossal statues choked the interior, so that one could not pass from door to door. Huge heads, trunks, and limbs lay piled in fantastic confusion. The temple had contained a number of giant images of Buddha. Some troops, on occupying the palace, had been informed that these were hollow and filled with treasures of inestimable value. The tale seemed likely; so dynamite was invoked to force them to reveal their hidden secrets. The colossal gods were hurled from their pedestals by its powerful agency; and their ruins were eagerly searched by the vandals. But it was found that the interiors of the statues, though indeed hollow, were simply modelled to correspond with the internal anatomy of a human being, all the organs being reproduced in silver or zinc. And the gods were sacrificed in vain to the greed of the spoilers.
The Empress‐Dowager’s temple had escaped such rough treatment, as it held nothing that tempted the conquerors. Under its huge shadow lay a lovely little structure, the Bronze Pagoda. On a white marble plinth and surrounded by a carved balustrade of the same stone, stood a delicately modelled, tiny temple about twenty or thirty feet high. Roof, pillars, walls—all were of the same valuable material. From the corners of the spreading, upturned eaves hung bells. The whole structure was a perfect work of art; and one sighed for a miniature replica of the graceful little building.
But while we wandered among these quaint temples we had failed to notice dark masses of clouds that had gradually climbed up from the horizon and overcast the whole sky. One of the heavy storms of a North China summer was evidently in store for us. So, anxious to regain the capital before it could break, we returned to the palace, bade a hurried farewell to our kind hosts, and mounted our ponies. Back through the fields and on to the paved highway we rode at a steady pace, our ponies, refreshed by the long halt and eager to reach their stables, trotting out willingly. The storm held off, and as we came in view of the gate of Pekin, we congratulated ourselves on our good fortune. But suddenly, without a moment’s warning, sheets of water fell from the dark sky. In went our spurs, and we raced madly for the shelter of the gateway. But long before we reached it we were soaked through and through. Our boots were filled with water, the broad brims of our pith hats hung limply over our eyes, and we were as thoroughly wet as though we had swum the Peiho.