From Pekin to Calais by Land

by Harry De Windt

It seems scarcely probable that China will become civilized for many, many years to come, as long as the Emperor and his ministers continue to set their faces against improvement of any kind, especially if it be what they regard as an innovation of the “foreign devils.” For instance: a company was formed a few years since to construct a railway from Tientsin to the capital——a line which would have enormously improved and benefited the trade of the latter, but the Government would not hear of its construction. Permission was, however, granted to carry a line from Shanghai to Woosung on the Yantzekiang river in 1877, an enterprise which under European management, succeeded admirably till when one fine day, not a year after its completion, an order came down from Pekin for its immediate removal——and this command the unfortunate share-holders were of course compelled to comply with.

The Emperor’s father was lately induced to make a trip to Tientsin at the invitation of the European merchants living there. It was hoped that seeing something of the outside world might open his eyes to the foolish and lamentable practices of the Imperial Court. Every honour was shown him——a salute fired from the French and English gunboats. Balls, parties, receptions, dinners were given——everything in short, that money could buy was procured to fête him, and it was confidently hoped, so agreeable and pleasant did he make himself, that his week’s visit would send him back to Pekin a wiser man——also that some of this wisdom would be imparted to his son the Emperor. But it was all in vain. All he did on his return to the capital was to set to work and write a number of satirical poems in Chinese, descriptive of his trip, and anything but complimentary to his hosts, the White Barbarians. These poems were published, and had an enormous sale in Pekin.

The long sunny days dragged wearily by. A week, a fortnight elapsed, and still no boy. Our passports for China and Mongolia were in order, mules and litters procured for the journey to the Great Wall——everything in readiness for a start, which, however, Sir John W. would not hear of our making without an interpreter. It was tedious work waiting. We seldom left the hotel after the first week, except to dine at the Embassy, or spend the afternoon in its cool, shady grounds, where one could while away the weary hours with books and papers from the well-stocked library. We did not often dine out, but when we did, preferred ploughing through the dust or mire, on foot, to going in a Pekin cab, a circumstance our neighbours at dinner ought to have been grateful for, for these vehicles are crawling with vermin. It was necessary to take lamps on these occasions, for the less frequented streets of the city are unlit, and to be well armed with thick sticks for protection against the dogs, whose name is legion, and who prowl about the city at night in large numbers in search of food. Although of great size, they are mangy, wretched-looking creatures. In gangs they are dangerous, and frequently attack solitary and unarmed wayfarers; but, like the Turks at Constantinople, the Pekinese do not harm them, for they are capital scavengers, though the din they make at night is very trying to a nervous constitution, and sleep in Pekin for the first two or three nights is an impossibility.

I have said much against Pekin in this chapter, enough, perhaps, to deter the reader from ever wishing to pay it a visit. I must at the same time give it its due, for it is undoubtedly exempt from many of the pests and annoyances of other Eastern cities. There are no mosquitoes to speak of, nor sandflies, nor does that most irritating plague of all, the common fly, torment you day and night as it does in other hot climates. Indeed, it is not, on the whole, such a bad residence for Europeans as many places I could name in India and other parts of the East. The life is, of course, frightfully monotonous during the summer months, when those connected with the Legations who can spare the time betake themselves to the hills, some fifteen miles distant, where some old temples have been fitted up to form rough though comfortable summer retreats for those who are compelled to inhabit the dusty, stench-ridden capital in the hot season.

The European population of Pekin is, as I have said, a very small one, probably not more than sixty or seventy in all. It consists exclusively of the various Legations, Missionary Houses and College. There is but one mercantile establishment: the agency of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank.

In winter there are many worse places in the world than this. It is only then, indeed, that the European community ever make any effort to rouse themselves. Sleighing and skating-parties, lawn tennis, by day——and theatricals, dances, and dinner-parties by night, are the order of the day.

Pekin is fairly healthy, even in summer, for Europeans, except for those inclined to be nervous. In such cases the extremely rarified atmosphere often precludes sleep and induces insomnia and other nervous diseases. The sun, too, is more dangerous here than in any place (including Borneo) that I have ever visited in the East. It knocks you over in a second, and deaths from sunstroke, even among the natives, are frequent.

Living in Pekin though dear is excellent, and our host gave us little dinners that would not have disgraced a Paris restaurant. Although not manufactured, that greatest luxury of the East, ice, is cheap and abundant. It is cut (out of the canals) in winter in huge blocks and stored in early spring in large caves just outside the city walls. Fresh fruit is also stored and preserved in the same manner, and I have eaten a bunch of grapes in the month of July that had been stored the previous October as fresh as if they had just been cut from the vine.

We resolved, after a weary fortnight of waiting, to take matters more philosophically. It was useless chafing and worrying, either the boy would come or he wouldn’t. “Tout vient à point à celui qui ‘sait’ attendre,” was a proverb we were always quoting with an assumed calmness we were far from feeling. It was no great hardship waiting with such comfortable quarters, we argued, but the time, that seemed to crawl unless our thoughts turned to Siberia, when it flew with the speed of lightning, was what daily and nightly harassed and worried us. Our host and his pretty wife, however, did all they could to make us comfortable, and thoroughly succeeded. Sitting out after dinner with a cigar in the cool moonlit courtyard, redolent of verbena and mignonette, staring up at the patch of starry heaven overhead, and listening to the distant and soothing tinkle of madame’s piano, things would have seemed pleasant enough had we not known that every day, every hour was of the utmost importance. The Russian minister’s words, too, would keep cropping up, spoiling one’s digestion and upsetting patience and equanimity: “Get off as soon as you can; Siberia in early autumn is a hell upon earth.” Alas! we now began to realize that another month of delay would land us there at this very season.

We spent Jubilee Day at Pekin. A full-dress reception was held at the British Embassy in the afternoon, while at night the gardens were illuminated with hundreds of coloured lamps, the two entrance pavilions turned into reception-rooms, and a ball given to the European community. It was hard to realize that one was really in this hidden corner of the earth. With so many smart gowns and pretty faces around, one might have been in a London or Paris ball-room, and though the number was very limited, the evening was none the less agreeable for that, for Pekin has, or had at the time of our visit, more than its fair share of female beauty when compared with Shanghai or Hong Kong.