Reaching Tientsin that afternoon, we were met by representatives of the Civil Governor and by his band. There the American community, it seems, had been stirred prematurely by news of my coming, and had visited the station for two days in succession. The manager of the railway, a Britisher, had confused the Consul-General by his error in date of my arrival, starting too soon the entire machinery of reception, including a parade by the Fifteenth United States Infantry.
We had dinner that evening with Civil Governor Liu at his palace. Miles of driving in rain through dark, narrow streets, ending with a vision of huge walls and lantern-illuminated gates, found us in the inner courts, and, finally, in the main hall of the antique, many-coloured structure where the fat and friendly Governor received us. The heads of the various provincial departments attended, together with the President of the Assembly and the military aides. Young Mr. Li, the Governor's secretary and interpreter for the after-dinner speechmakers, performed the rare feat of rendering into either language an entire speech at a time—and the speeches were not short. My Chinese secretary commented on his brilliant translations, the perfect renderings of the English into Chinese, and I could myself admire his mastery of the English idiom. Such talent of translation is seldom displayed; the discourse of speakers is usually limited to brief paragraphs, continually checked by the renderings of the interpreters. Of course, this interrupts the flow of thought and contact with one's hearers. But the interpreter at this dinner even managed to translate jokes and witticisms without losing the point. A play on words is most difficult to carry into a foreign tongue, but the Chinese is so full of opportunities for puns that a nimble interpreter will always find a substitute. To the telling of a really funny situation the Chinese can be relied on to respond. Their humour is not unlike the American, which delights particularly in exposing undue pretensions. Interpreters, in translating speeches to the general public, have sometimes resorted to something of their own invention, in order to produce the expected laugh. When they despair of making the foreign joke hit the bull's-eye, they occasionally help things along by making personal remarks about the speaker, whose gratifications at the hilarity produced is usually unclouded by a knowledge of the method employed.
Our departure from Tientsin was signalized by an unusual mark of Chinese governmental courtesy. For the trip to Peking we found assigned the palace car of the former Empress Dowager, and I was told that it had not been used since her reign came to an end. Adapting a new invention to old custom, the car's interior had been arranged as a little palace chamber. The entrance doors were in a double set. Those in the centre were to be opened only when the sovereign entered or departed, the side doors being for ordinary use. Opposite the central doors at the end of the salon stood a little throne, high and wide, upholstered in Imperial yellow. The draperies and upholsteries of the car were all of that colour, and it made, in its way, quite a showing of splendour and departed greatness.
As one approaches the capital city, the beautiful mountain forms of the so-called Western Hills, which rise suddenly out of the plain about ten miles beyond Peking and attain an altitude of from six to seven thousand feet, present a striking contrast to the flat and far-stretching Chihli plain. The towers and city walls of Peking, an impressive and astounding apparition of strength and permanence, befit this scene. Solemn and mysterious, memorable for their size, extent, and general inevitableness of structure, they can be compared only with the Pyramids, or with great mountains fashioned by the hand of Nature herself. Looking down upon these plains, where so many races have met, fought, worked, lived, and died, where there is one of the chief meeting points of racial currents, these walls are in themselves the symbols of a memorable and long-sustained civilization.
As we approach more closely, the walls tower immediately above us as the train skirts them for several miles, crosses a number of busy roads leading to the southern gates of the city, and then suddenly slips through an opening in the walls to the inside. We first pass through the so-called Chinese city; this particular corner is no longer densely populated, but is now left to gardens, fields, and burial places with their monuments and pagodas. We only skirt the populous part of the Chinese city. Soon we are brought immediately under the lofty walls which separate the Chinese from the Manchu city, adjacent to it on the north, but separated from it by an enormous wall one hundred feet high, with a diameter of eighty feet. Where the two encircling walls meet, towering bastions soar upward, and above the roadways rise high gate-houses of many stories. The impassivity of these monumental structures contrasts sharply with the swarming human life that surges in the streets below.
From Mr. Willys R. Peck, Chinese Secretary of the Legation, who had met us at Tientsin and accompanied us to Peking, I learned more about the recent events in the capital and the fight which Yuan Shih-Kai was waging against the Parliament. At the station we were greeted by a large concourse of civilian and military officials, and Mr. E.T. Williams, Chargé d'Affaires since Mr. Calhoun's departure, acted as introducer. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sun Pao-chi, a tall, benevolent-looking man, wearing European dress and long chin whiskers, and speaking a little English with more French and German, offered his welcome and felicitations. Other high officials were there, many members of the American community, and several representatives of the parliament. It was a delight to see the fine-looking companies of American marines, who among all troops in Peking are noted for their well-groomed, smart, and soldierly appearance. Included for the official welcome was a company of stalwart Chinese infantry, and one of the Peking gendarmerie, which also is military in its organization. The several bands vied with each other in playing national airs and salutes, while thousands of spectators congregated.
The central Tartar city gate (the Chienmen), was still in its original form, and in passing through or under it one received an indelible impression of the stupendous majesty and dignity which characterize this unique capital. The curtain walls connecting the inner and outer gates have since been removed. We drove through a side gate in the curtain wall, finding ourselves in an impressive plaza overtowered by the two lofty and beautiful gate-houses. Two small picturesque antique temples flank the main entrance; one, dedicated to the God of War, was a favourite place with the Empress Dowager, who stopped her cortège there whenever she passed. From the flag-poles of these temples huge, brilliantly coloured banners floated in the air. Atop the wall from which the Chienmen Tower arises were American marines on guard and looking down upon us. These, then, were the men whose presence up there seemed to be interesting people so much.
From the main gateway one looks straight up the avenue which forms the central axis of Peking; it leads through many ornamental gates and between stately buildings to the central throne halls of the Imperial Palace. The city plan of Peking is a symmetrical one. This central axis, running due north and south, passes through a succession of important gateways, monuments, and seats of power. From it the city expands regularly east and west; on the south the Chinese city, the symmetry of its streets and alleyways more broken; and the Manchu city on the north, with broad avenues leading to the principal gates, while the large blocks between them are cut up more regularly by narrower streets and alleyways.
From the main south gate of the Chinese city the central line passes along the principal business street to the central south gate of the Tartar city—the imposing Chienmen—while eighty rods beyond this stands the first outer gate of the Imperial City. Thence the central line cuts the large square which lies immediately outside of the Forbidden City, forming the main approach to the Imperial City. The line then passes between pillars and huge stone lions through the Forbidden City's first gate, cutting its inner parade ground and inner gate, above which stands the throne from which the Emperor reviewed his troops. Through the central enclosures, with the throne rooms and coronation halls, three magnificent structures in succession, the line passes, at the point where the thrones stand, into the residential portion of the Forbidden City where the present Emperor lives, and strikes the summit of Coal Hill, the highest point in Peking. It bisects the temple where the dead bodies of Emperors reposed before burial, and proceeds from the rear of the Imperial City by its north gate through the ancient Bell Tower and Drum Tower. A more awe-inspiring and majestic approach to a seat of power is not to be seen in this world. We can well imagine, when tribute bearers came to Peking and passed along this highway beset with imposing structures and great monuments, that they were prepared to pay homage when finally in the presence of the being to whose might all this was but an introduction.
But we did not follow along this path of sovereign power. After passing through the Chienmen we turned directly to the right to enter the Legation Quarter and to reach the American Legation, which nestles immediately inside the Tartar wall in the shadow of the tall and imposing Chienmen Tower. It is the first of the great establishments along Legation Street, which is approached through a beautiful many-coloured pailu, or street arch.