Empires and Emperors of Russia, China, Korea, and Japan / Notes and Recollections by Monsignor Count Vay de Vaya and Luskod

The capital of Northern Manchuria is Tsi-tsi-kar.The Governor of the province resides there, and it is the centre of that part of the country.But the town itself is very primitive, and far behind the other two chief towns, Kirin and Mukden.The population is a mixture of Manchus, Chinese, and Buriats, who do a small trade in raw materials, more especially in skins of all sorts.

From a very early date caravans have made this place one of their stopping stations on their way from the southern provinces to the districts north of the Amur.The people still use the same primitive carts as in those remote times, sometimes drawn by Mongolian ponies—I have seen as many as sixteen or eighteen to one cart—more often by oxen.

The peculiar way in which the harness was fixed always amused me: it seemed an inextricable confusion of straps and cords.How do they manage it?It is a problem which only Chinese patience can solve.

I had equally good opportunities of studying the local dress and the customs of the natives. In this vast, barren region, where no European had ever penetrated before the construction of the railway, everything is still in its primitive state. The people live partly by agriculture, such as it is, and partly by fishing. The houses are extremely poor; we should call them hovels, built of bricks or dried mud. There they live, together with their cattle and other domestic animals. Like all Asiatics, they are devoted to horse-breeding, and I visited several large haras

Flocks and herds abound, but the animal one meets with most frequently is the pig; but the pigs of this region are very different from ours.They are usually black, with long, thin tails, looking rather like boars.Numbers of them are to be seen in every yard, rooting up the ground and giving the Manchu homestead about as untidy and dirty an appearance as is possible to conceive.

Of poultry there is no lack either.Geese, ducks, and fowls share the family abode.The entrance to every house is guarded by half-savage dogs, like so many wolves, and certainly not less ferocious.More than once I was nearly devoured by them, and as it is not advisable to fight them I always took care to have my pockets full of biscuits.

A Manchu home, in short, has the appearance of a cattle show, or a Noah's ark, and the life lived is unquestionably antediluvian.

Speaking generally, the cultural standard of the Manchus is much below the average Chinese level.The people look more barbarous to begin with, their occupations are all of a rough nature, and the old Confucian doctrines have never penetrated to them.They have always led a merely animal rather than an intellectual life, an existence of strife rather than of thought, and to this day the Imperial army consists almost exclusively of Manchu soldiers.

Our progress was very slow.For many days we travelled on leisurely, with occasional stoppages long enough to enable me to make excursions into the interior.I tried every means of conveyance—bullock-carts, Mongol ponies, Cossack horses.It was tiring work, but gave me extraordinary opportunities of making myself familiar with the country and its inhabitants.At last I reached Kharbin, a famous town, being the junction where the three railways of Manchuria meet, viz.the Vladivostok, the Port Arthur, and the Siberian lines.

Of all the places I have visited during this long journey, Kharbin seems to me the dreariest, the most desolate.A dull, cold autumn afternoon greeted me on my arrival.The rain fell in torrents; not only did the water pour down from the skies, but it oozed up from the ground as well. The river had overflowed, and all the land was inundated. Half the place stood under water. The railway station looked like a little island in the midst of a marsh. Together with the few passengers for Vladivostok I was carried on men's shoulders into the waiting-room, a mere barn, where we found a mixed crowd of mujiks and Cossacks with their luggage, which consisted of bedding, cooking utensils, packages and bundles of all sorts and sizes, tied together, piled around them.

The same place also served as refreshment room, and at one end of it about a dozen officers were dining at a big table.A pretentious gilded chandelier—ironically reminding one of Western luxury—formed the centre-piece.But I had no time to admire its beauty or even to sit down to my meal, although I was nearly famished.The station-master came bustling up to me with a very disconsolate countenance and informed me that he had received a telegram intimating that a bridge near Liaoyang had been carried away by the floods, and that in consequence of the defective state of the roads it was impossible to say when the next train would start.

It would be difficult to describe my consternation on hearing this depressing announcement, for I fully realized the awfulness of my position should I be compelled to make a prolonged stay in this place. The roads were so bad that excursions would be out of the question, and I should have to remain a prisoner in my carriage until the road was open again.

Meanwhile, I gladly accepted the offer of a seat in a tarantass to drive round the town. Kharbin is of interest from a modern point of view because it is one of the headquarters of the Russians in Manchuria.

The town has sprung up within recent years, about the time of the Chino-Japanese war.It consists of barracks and military quarters, ammunition stores, railroad factories, and a few private houses for the families of officers, railway officials, and employés.It has no pretence to beauty, and in the flooded condition in which I saw it, its gloomy buildings, streaming with rain, looked deplorable.We came past some shops where tinned meats, vegetables, and other provisions are sold.There is also a hotel, which I prefer not to describe.I was told that the place even boasts a café and music-hall, the only place of poor amusement for the officers and their wives in garrison there.Kharbin is supposed to have about fifteen thousand inhabitants, but where were they?Were they dead, asleep, or hiding?I could not see a single living being.Could this be altogether accounted for by the weather, even allowing that the water in the streets rose to the knees of the horses, and that the wheels of our vehicle were submerged to the axle?

As we drove along my amiable guide explained to me that Kharbin is a military place, destined to see much active service in the event of a war, because, being situated on the junction of three great railway lines, it would be the centre for the mobilization and concentration of the troops.It would probably become the headquarters of the intendant and of the ammunition service.Hospitals, too, would be erected and the Red Cross would have a large staff there.I listened with interest to all these conjectures and plans for the future.

It was night when we returned to the station, where an agreeable surprise awaited me.I was told that a goods train with a convoy of coolies and troops to repair the line which had been destroyed, would be ready to start a little after midnight.Could my carriage be attached to it?I inquired.At first it seemed doubtful.No one appeared to know how far we could get, and there was even some question as to whether the road would bear the weight of the train.However, anything, no matter what, would be better than Kharbin, I thought; even the uncertainty of the future was preferable to the certainty of the present.

About three o'clock in the morning, after an interminable night of bustling, coming and going of troops, rushing about of coolies, shunting and whistling of engines, we at last began to move. The train presented a curious appearance. It consisted chiefly of open trucks and a few wagons in which the soldiers lay huddled together, with their winter coats tucked under their heads for pillows, while hundreds of coolies were packed like cattle in the open carriages.

At first we passed slowly through a vast, partially submerged plain.Often the road was entirely under water, and in various places so badly damaged that we had to proceed with the greatest possible caution.More than once the coolies had to turn out with pickaxe, shovel, and building material to repair the line, under the strict supervision of the officers of the railway service.I availed myself of the frequent stoppages and our altogether casual progress to study the country.

When at last we reached the large province of Central Manchuria there was a notable change in the geographical aspect.The ground became hilly and wooded.We followed several winding valleys, irrigated by tortuous watercourses, and surrounded by mountain ridges.In some parts it was decidedly pretty.The soil is fertile, and nature has endowed it with many precious gifts.The mountain slopes are rich in minerals and the woods abound with game.The mineral wealth of Manchuria is as yet unexplored, and there are comparatively few gold, silver, and copper mines in process of exploitation. Some foreign syndicates have been formed, more especially in the south, and these have proved successful, but since the Russian occupation of the railway district they have been hampered by all sorts of difficulties, and except in the free port of Niu-chwang, the introduction of foreign capital has been stopped.

In actual size Central Manchuria is considerably smaller than the northern district of Tsi-tsi-kar—also known as Halung-kiang—but the population of the north is only about one million, while Central Manchuria contains twice as many inhabitants.The seat of government for this latter district is at Kirin, a very ancient town with quaint houses built in the old Chinese style, yamens with shining roofs, temples and pagodas, all very picturesque.

Kirin itself is famous for the battlemented wall which, with its heavy ramparts and pagoda-like towers, is very imposing.But the chief attraction of this provincial capital is the surrounding scenery.Valleys and mountains, dark forests and distant blue mountain peaks, form a most charming picture.It is indeed a glorious region, and a joy both to the sportsman and to the artist.The fishing in the mountain streams is excellent, and there are still numbers of leopards, bears, wolves, a certain kind of deer, foxes, and hares in the forests. For the artist the opportunities here are not less ample; pretty woodland scenery, attractive bits of street corners, and town scenery, and above all the historical monuments, the celebrated royal tombs, and the commemorative tablets on the river banks, or hidden in the sacred groves; all these are excellent subjects for sketches.

The great difficulty at the present moment is how to reach these beautiful regions.There are, so far, only a very few stations in process of building on this route, and it must be remembered that even these, though called by the names of the various places, are often twenty or thirty miles distant from the towns they represent, and that there are scarcely any means of conveyance, and that in many cases there is not even a road!

It would seem as if the Eastern Chinese Railway scrupulously avoided all inhabited regions, and certainly in its present condition, and as long as there are no branch lines, it is useless for all purposes of ordinary traffic or commercial enterprise.The Russian officers who have projected it appear to have had only one object in view, to connect in the most direct manner Vladivostok and Port Arthur with the Siberian line, for the sole purpose of transporting troops in case of need with the least possible delay.

All this great work has been done quietly, unostentatiously, and without arousing any ill-feeling among the natives. At the present moment one may travel for a whole day without catching sight of anything more conspicuous than railway buildings, barracks, and encampments with Russian soldiers lining the entire length of the route.

After several days' travelling we emerged into cultivated plains, rich pasture land intersected by patches of Indian corn, beans, etc. Crops of all kinds presented themselves before our eyes.The country no longer showed the barren desolation of the Gobi desert, nor the romantic wildness of Central Manchuria.It was peopled!There were men working in the fields, and I could see houses and little farms, poor and miserable enough it is true, but at least indicative of human life.

*****

FROM MUKDEN STATION TO MUKDEN TOWN

It was dawn when I looked out of my carriage window—a dull grey dawn.The sky was covered with leaden clouds and the rain came down in torrents.The river banks were entirely submerged, and the train stood still in a sea of mud.The scene of general deluge vividly recalled my ideas of the Flood, and it was like stepping out of the ark when I alighted from my carriage. Close by I saw a modest structure, one storey high, more like a peasant's hut than anything else, and I could scarcely believe that this was the station intended for Mukden, the capital of Manchuria. To my consternation I learnt that the train would go no farther that day. It might go on to-morrow or perhaps in a week's time.

There was plenty of time therefore to explore Mukden, although the town was over twenty miles away.But how was I to get there?There was no road to be seen and no vehicle anywhere about.I made inquiries from the station-master, a Russian officer, with a long beard and resplendent with gold lace.He advised me to send my interpreter to one of the neighbouring farms, where I might possibly obtain a Chinese cart, a driver, and a couple of mules, to convey me to Mukden in as short a time as the state of the roads would permit.I followed this advice.The courier wasted the greater part of the day in arguing with the farmers, while I was left in my carriage at the mercy of the hurricane, and occupied the time in writing down my unpleasant impressions, wind and rain supplying the accompaniment of music.

Towards the close of the afternoon my faithful Sancho returned, and pointed to a kind of cabriolet on two wheels with three mules harnessed in tandem fashion, and driven by a crooked little Chinaman. I cannot deny that the effect was extremely picturesque. The car was lacquered yellow, the hood covered with blue; the mules were grey, and the little driver was sheltered by a huge umbrella of gold-coloured oil-cloth. But although picturesque, it was far from comfortable. The vehicle had no springs and no seat; in fact, it consisted simply of a wooden board about two and a half feet square, on which one had to sit cross-legged like a Turk or a tailor. If the occupant happens to be neither the one nor the other, he suffers agonies before five minutes have passed. The only attempt at comfort was a small calico rug at the bottom of the cart, but this was a poor protection against the extremely hard wood of Manchuria.

I hesitated a moment before venturing to enter this uncomfortable conveyance, and pictured vividly to myself the horrors of a night's journey in it.But I had promised to visit, if possible, the site of our Mission station, which had been pillaged and burned in the last Boxer insurrection, and which had been the scene of so much noble martyrdom.So after all I made up my mind to go.

Little Li-Hu cracked his long whip, which, by the by, looked more like a fishing rod than a whip. And indeed, I might have amused myself with some angling on the way, for the mules were up to their fetlocks in chocolate-coloured liquid mud.

The first sight which attracted my attention on the road was a one-storeyed building, used as barracks and occupied by Cossacks.I learnt that it served as an encampment for the protection of the railway station.

Then followed a long stretch of road without anything remarkable to be seen.

There were fields on both sides of the way, but they could not be seen because all the land was entirely submerged as in Egypt at the rising of the Nile.I presumed that we were on a road, for we advanced between two rows of irregularly planted trees; I also concluded that at one time this road had been paved, perhaps centuries ago, but it was decidedly bumpy now.

These speculations were presently confirmed when we arrived at a bridge delicately arching a creek.It was a very fine structure, carved in Chinese fashion, and of great architectural beauty.I left my carriage to examine it more closely, and when I had scraped off some of the mud with which it was encrusted, I found that it was entirely built of white marble.

After crossing the river the road became still worse.I was jolted up and down, thrown from side to side, my head was knocked against the wooden frame of the hood, and after a mile or so of this torture I could bear it no longer and decided to try the back of one of the mules.

Riding without a saddle on the back of a thin Manchu mule cannot be said to be a comfortable mode of travelling, and my agonies are better imagined than described.

Here was I, in an unknown country, surrounded by a desert which seemed more desolate than ever in its flooded condition, the rain coming down as if all the sluices of heaven had been opened, while the tiny driver at whose mercy I was, might, for all I knew, be a cut-throat.

My vocabulary was as yet limited to two words, how-di and poo-howPerhaps they are written quite differently, but this is how they sound.The former stands for everything that is good, pretty, pleasant (I have never had occasion to use it); the other expresses the reverse, and I was quite tired of saying it, because it never proved to be of the slightest effect.

We encountered no one on the road, but passed one little vehicle like mine, in which I counted at least ten visible occupants.Four were seated on the shafts, some on the mules, and the others outside on the hood.I could not see how many there were inside.All the outside passengers had large umbrellas of oil-cloth, the same as my driver, and they looked like big sunflowers. It was quite cheering to see those people so perfectly happy, laughing and joking under such wretched conditions.

Their stoicism gave me relief, and I shook the water from my dripping clothes and felt a little better too.But as night approached and the desolation became more oppressive, my self-confidence fell from hour to hour.Darkness magnified all the surroundings, and gave them a fantastic aspect.The lights in the distant farm-houses looked like will-o'-the-wisps; the trees became phantoms, and the barking of the dogs sounded like the roar of the dragons, which, as every one knows, are natives of the Yellow Empire.All the fairy stories of my childhood came back to my memory, and assumed a shape in the reality of my surroundings.

I must add, too, that what I had read lately about Manchuria was not encouraging.The country, I knew, was still in a state of agitation and suppressed revolt.Gangs of bandits traversed the country in all directions, burning farmsteads, pillaging villages, murdering travellers.Skirmishes often took place between them and the Cossacks, and more than once during my journey I heard the firing of shots.The most dreaded of all these ruffians are the Chunchuses; they are formed into more or less organized bodies, like the bandits of ancient Italy, and they possess as much influence as the Mafia of Sicily.

It was getting late and we had travelled for many hours without seeing any trace of houses. I could ask no questions, because I could only say those two words, poo-how and how-diEven if Li-Hu had been of a communicative turn of mind I should not have understood his explanations, so we continued our lugubrious ride in perfect silence, I perched on the back of a mule, with the shafts of the cart for stirrups, while Li-Hu had the carriage all to himself.He wriggled about like a serpent and finally sought consolation for the bitter reality of the present in the happy dreams of the past.

At last the will-o'-the-wisps drew nearer, the phantoms took the form of ordinary trees, and the roars of the dragons resolved themselves into the barking of dogs.

I scarcely dared to believe that I had reached my destination, lest I should be disappointed.Li-Hu was sound asleep, but the mules made straight for a dismal-looking building, and stopped as by instinct in front of a conspicuous signboard.By the same instinct, I suppose, Li-Hu awoke and I asked eagerly, "Mukden?Mukden?"But evidently I was wrong, for he emphatically shook his head.

After a while the innkeeper appeared on the threshold and looked even more forbidding than the house itself, through the open doors of which escaped thick clouds of opium-smoke. I should have preferred to remain on the back of my mule, as there was no possibility of stretching my legs because of the mud, but they were already unharnessing my beast, so I had no choice, and was obliged to enter the house.

The place was lugubrious in the extreme.It looked like a witch's cave, and all things combined to complete this impression.There was the cauldron hanging on a chain over the fire, while enormous logs of wood diffused a sulphurous flame in the light of which the inmates of the place looked truly terrible.At least a dozen men were crouching on the floor, and several others lay asleep on the kang or heated earthen bench which ran all along the dwelling.They were smoking opium in small bronze pipes.

At my entrance most of them roused themselves from their stupor, and their small eyes expressed astonishment, united with curiosity, mistrust, and hatred.I could detect all the hostility of the East against the West in that look.The ill-will of the yellow race towards "the white devils" manifested itself in all its bitterness and force.I must confess that I did not feel quite at my ease in this uncanny company, and it was only the deep interest which I felt in these people, in the den and its surroundings, the novelty of the situation and my passionate interest in human nature, which helped me through the ordeal.

What was going to happen?Would they remain passive, or were they going to attack me?They were interrogating Li-Hu.It was like a play to watch the proceedings.Without understanding the language, it was easy enough to follow the drift of the argument."Who is it?Where is he going?What has he got?"

From the expression of Li-Hu's face and his hesitation in answering, I gathered that the information he had to give concerning his charge was not satisfactory, but I also noted with interest how cleverly he concocted a story to his own advantage.Evidently the shrewd Chinaman had in his mind two strong points in my favour.In the first place I had not yet paid him, and in the second place I had been entrusted to his care by the station-master, by whom he was known.I also detected that he did not want to rouse the animosity of the other men, consequently he never mentioned my private car, probably also by the advice of the station-master, and from the expression of his face and the manner in which he turned out his pockets, he was clearly representing me as a poor missionary who was going to Mukden to fetch his pay at the bank, and whom it would not be worth while to kidnap on his way there.

The minutes dragged on like so many hours; the night seemed endless.Finally, to pass the time, I began to draw with some coloured chalks. Would that interest them? I wondered. I could not be sure at first, but the ruffians slowly gathered round me and I never had more complacent spectators. Those men who, a few minutes ago, would have taken my life, or at least my purse, suddenly became quite friendly. Like the lyre of Orpheus, my pictures did wonders, soothing the savage instincts and softening the passions of these brigands. It was the greatest triumph my modest crayons ever won for me.

At last there was a general stir.Li-Hu prepared his cart, and we started once more.It was still dark, but the rain had ceased and the cold rays of the moon from time to time broke through the parting clouds.By means of these occasional flashes of light I discerned in the distance, silhouetted against the horizon, the dark outlines of a pagoda.Surely that was the point we were making for.We had long since left the so-called main road, and were jolting and jerking along by fields of turnips and Indian corn.The shocks were perhaps not quite so rough as before, on the half-paved highroad, but their violence was yet amazing.

It was daybreak when we arrived before the principal gate of Mukden, and after the night of darkness and peril the glories of the city seemed enhanced.The sky was cloudless and intensely blue, as if enamelled in cobalt on a golden ground. The richly sculptured fronts of the houses shone with truly Oriental splendour. It was the early hour of the morn. People poured out of the city gates to start their daily tasks in the fields and farms. Every one wore bright-coloured garments, and looked happy and cheerful. Everything breathed contentment: the effect was charming. It was the victory of light over darkness.

The sun, like a great magician, had waved his wand, touched and dispersed clouds and gloom, and thrown, so it would seem, a veil of oblivion over the sadness and misery of the past night, to give courage and hope to begin another day.

---

IV

THE CAPITAL OF MANCHURIA

My surprise on first beholding the famous city of Mukden was as complete as it was agreeable.The scene before me was simply delightful.At first I could not distinguish anything clearly, neither lines nor forms. I was dazzled by the intensity of colour and light.

The façade of every house was ornamented with strange carvings and mouldings; never before had I seen such fantastic prodigality of human imagination.All the lines curve upward, and every house resembles a pagoda on a small scale.So many motives, so many different colours; red, yellow, green, blue, in endless profusion, the effect being increased by rich gilding.

In front of the houses are shops or booths, where are exposed—generally in the open—goods and merchandise of all kinds, arranged in fanciful pyramids in accordance with Oriental caprice.Embroideries, rich silks, artificial flowers, fans, and umbrellas, anything, in fact, to tempt the local taste or satisfy the daily demands.The displays of porcelain are particularly attractive, also the shows of silver and brass ware.Most fascinating are the stalls of the bric-à-brac dealers with their fine lacquer-work, fluted vases of priceless value, old porcelains, cloisonné boxes, and artistically designed snuff-bottles[2].

[2] The Chinese do not use boxes, but snuff-bottles of great value.

Before every booth a tall mast or pole is dressed, from which floats a flag as signboard, and both are elaborately inscribed with advertisements of wares sold inside the shop.The bootmakers' insignia are particularly artistic and only surpassed in splendour by the rich festoons of gold which mark the pawnbrokers' shops.The main thoroughfare, with its endless variety of cabalistic design and rich colouring, is like an Oriental bazaar or the gorgeous scenery of a theatre.But what struck me most was the enormous vitality and activity of this marvellous city.

It was like watching an ants' nest to see this surging tide of human beings incessantly flooding the squares and streets.Men and women, young and old, of all ranks and all nationalities, push and press past one another.Some are carried in beautiful chairs, others content themselves with a modest kind of wheelbarrow, in which six or seven persons can be accommodated on a narrow board, and which is pushed along by a famished-looking coolie.These wheelbarrows answer the purpose of omnibuses in the Manchu capital, and they take a person from one end of the city to the other for about a quarter of a halfpenny. "Rickshaws" have recently come into fashion; they are a great improvement on the old means of conveyance, for instead of being pushed they are pulled along. All true Manchus, however, prefer riding on horseback to any other mode of locomotion.

Whatever room is left in the street is taken up by pedestrians, labourers carrying enormous loads, and coolies going about their daily business.It is an impressive sight, and once more I came to the conclusion that the intrinsic character of a place is not expressed in the arrangement of its streets, or in the height and style of its buildings, but in the general manifestation of its activity.

While the eye takes in all these various details, the ear need not be idle.The air is full of sound.Strains of music proceeding from the tea-houses, costermongers' cries, shrieks of quarrelsome children, and high-pitched voices in admonition; shouting and noise of all sorts and in endless variety are heard.

At every step there is a fresh surprise.Fortunately, so far, no guide-books have been written to describe the attractions of the Manchu capital, and no cumbersome descriptions spoil the effect of its genuine charms

To form an idea of the plan of the city, imagine an oblong chess-board. Like all Chinese towns, it is regular in the principal lines. There are two main streets in the form of a cross, intersected by innumerable narrow lanes, and in the middle of the town, where the two chief thoroughfares cross, stands a high tower from the top of which a drum and a gong announce the beginning and the close of the day. Also from this high vantage ground the alarm is given in case of danger, and a detachment of soldiers, stationed in a sort of pigeon-holes, spend the hours of their watch in peaceful slumber.

It would be difficult to enumerate all the places of interest which Mukden contains, for everything is interesting to the Western mind, even to the smallest cottage with its curiously shaped roof and quaint style.And the interest lies not only in their material conception or in their exterior, but also in their inner qualities, and especially in the fact that they give expression to the mental and artistic ideas of the nation.As has already been said, it is at first the general effect, the picturesqueness, and the novelty, which strike one as so charming.Some of the houses are very dilapidated, the walls lean over, and the roofs are covered with a tangled growth of moss and grass.But all this makes them the more attractive from an artistic point of view.

Among the most interesting public edifices are the yamens belonging to the Government, and occupied by the Governor and some others of the mandarins of high degree; one or two Lama monasteries; the large buildings where the Russian Consul and the Commander-in-Chief reside; and last, but not least, the building occupied by the famous Russo-Chinese Bank and its agents.

Naturally the Imperial Palace is a place of great interest.With its enclosure of walls it forms a city within the city.It is divided into various courts, and consists of a great many separate structures, detached houses, halls, and pavilions.Taken separately these are not of great importance, but the whole effect is very striking.The colonnades, beams, and brackets are of carved wood, richly painted and gilded.All the woodwork is painted dark purple, and the roofs, like those of all edifices connected with the Imperial Family, or dedicated to Confucius, are covered with yellow tiles.The greater part of the palace is now occupied by Russian troops.

Near the palace gate is a low building in which a whole detachment of soldiers is quartered, and the open court is lined with cannon.It was only on my showing them a special permission from the commander that the sentries allowed me to pass.

The interior of the palace is in a sad state of ruin. Since the Imperial Family departed for Pekin, it has never been inhabited, and the few art treasures still remaining are carelessly scattered about the place. There are some valuable panels, some precious jades, and exquisite porcelains, but the greater portion of them disappeared after the last war. Some say that these treasures have been stolen by the Boxers, but according to another version the thieves must be looked for elsewhere. I was told that the very rare collection of old manuscripts and official documents is now quietly reposing among the archives at St. Petersburg to be protected from destruction.

My eyes wandered from the reception-halls to the vestibules, from the terraces to the gardens.It was all so original, so quaint.But the thing which specially strikes the visitor is the incongruity of transforming this sacred cradle of the master minds of the Celestial Empire into a Cossack encampment.As I passed out through the principal entrance, a Muscovite warrior stood on guard by the Dragon's door, and his white blouse contrasted strangely with the heavy bulk of the palace.

As the day advanced, the crowds in the city increased.Russian soldiers paraded the streets and patrolled the ramparts in small detachments.I saw officers on frisky ponies and ladies with their families going about in the national troïkas

It is especially noteworthy that these Russian people not only feel perfectly at home among the Manchus, but that the conquered people associate on the most friendly terms with their conquerors in the taverns and inns.They sit amicably side by side and appear to be the best of friends.It is true that many of the enemies were born on the same soil; they are practically semi-Asiatics themselves; often have a common origin, and belong to the same race; above all, live the same primitive and uncultivated life.

The great difference which separates the European, whether of the Anglo-Saxon or the Latin race, from the Mongol and the Tartar, does not exist here.As soon as a fight is concluded, they settle down to their ordinary life; the greatest cruelties committed on either side are soon forgotten.Hatred may lurk in their innermost minds, but outwardly they live in peace together.

They have the same tastes, the same amusements, and agree particularly on the question of frugality.Contempt of comfort, indifference to refinement, and a very rudimentary degree of culture, are common to both of them.One thing which even more prevents any feeling of coldness arising between them is that, far from trying to transform and educate the conquered nation, the conquerors often stoop to the low level of the subjugated people.

With the exception of the railway I am not aware that any attempts have been made to civilize the Manchus.Commerce is not encouraged and international traffic does not exist, because all the towns have thus far been closed to foreigners.The Russian Government is even taking steps to get into its own hands the English and American mining operations which are being financed by some new loans.In spiritual matters the same restrictions prevail, and the difficulties which are put in the way of the missionary work increase from day to day.

In local government a semblance of the old forms is preserved.Manchuria is divided into three administrations, Tsi-tsi-kar, Kirin, and Mukden.Each province has a governor, and all three are under the authority of a viceroy or mandarin of the highest rank, who resides at Mukden.

The official yamen, and the staff of dignitaries of various degrees, are here exactly what they are everywhere else.They all appear extremely busy, writing extraordinary cabalistic signs on sheets of rice-paper.The small details of local affairs keep them occupied all day; probably they know nothing of matters of serious importance, but they seem admirably suited to fill a post which involves a minimum of responsibility and brings with it a good substantial salary. There appears to be a perfect entente cordiale between the Manchu mandarins and the Russian generals, and if perchance a difference of opinion should occur, the difficulty is generally smoothed over by the irresistible influence and the mysterious power of the Russo-Chinese Bank.

The important event of my first day was the official reception given by the Governor.I was carried to the palace in a chair, followed by an interpreter and my little major-domo.The canopy of the chair was covered with green silk, and four stalwart fellows carried me through the narrow, tortuous streets.The shaking was terrible, for where the pavement should have been there were big holes filled with liquid mud.I could forgive my bearers for their rough handling of my chair, but it was difficult not to resent being bumped on to the ground every time they changed shoulders, which they did without slackening their pace.It was not a great height to fall from, but the sensation was decidedly unpleasant.It was like a nightmare; the time occupied by the fall seemed interminable, and on reaching the ground I felt like being hurled to the bottom of a precipice.

At last we came to the principal entrance of the palace, at least what I supposed to be the principal entrance, judging from a group of queerly attired creatures, who presented arms—and such arms! It was an extraordinary collection, reminding me of the get-up of some old Chinese play. They were fierce-looking warriors, carrying halberds, javelins, and sickles on long poles, glittering and sparkling in the midday sun.

As seen from the outside, the palace is a poor structure.The massive wall which flanks the front gate is decorated with pictures of dragons to scare away, as I was told, evil spirits and "the white devils."The first court I came to was not much more attractive.It seemed, in fact, no better than a stable yard.There were a few horses tied to their stalls and some shelters for the soldiers and servants.I had to cross several courts before I arrived at the court of honour, which was square like the others, and had halls on each side.It was beautifully decorated with flowers and shrubs.There were chrysanthemums, and dwarf orange, peach, and pear trees, especially cultivated for the purpose of ornamentation.The effect produced was exquisite, and though the surroundings are all more or less in a state of decadence, that inner court is a picturesque specimen of Chinese domestic architecture.

But I had no time to study it in detail, for the Mandarin stood there in the centre, surrounded by his court. He was in a robe of dark blue silk, magnificently embroidered, and his suite was no less gorgeously attired. When I appeared upon the threshold of the vestibule we exchanged profound bows, and repeated this salutation until we met half way. Then we shook hands in Western fashion, no easy task, considering that my host's finger-nails were at least two inches long. The customary introductions over, he led the way to his private apartments.

The first room was entirely Chinese, and contained some exquisitely carved armchairs.The effect of the second room was spoiled by two easy chairs of Vienna manufacture, a hideous French clock, and a tablecloth, probably of Manchester make.

The preliminary compliments once exchanged—a formidable business here—His Excellency asked me some dozen questions which in the West would be considered most indiscreet, but are obligatory in the East.Then he conducted me to the dining-hall, where luncheon was set on a round table profusely decorated with flowers and sweetmeats.

Innumerable little dishes were scattered over the silk tablecloth, and saucers filled with raisins, grapes, almonds, olives, and a variety of dainties.Etiquette prescribes that the guest shall be placed on the left of his host, and that the first mouthful of food shall be put on to his plate by the host himself. After that the servants bring in dishes containing the most delicate productions of the Chinese culinary art. Fish soup and snail soup, sharks' fins in unpalatable jellies, all kinds of minces and hashes, and patties with sauces most unpleasant to Western taste, composed the menu.

Custom, which regulates all public and social functions in this country, demands that no less than fifty different dishes be presented to a guest of distinction.All these concoctions are handed round on large trays, in series of eight at a time.They look different, but all taste alike, at least so it seemed to me.They are both sweet and sour, and whether they go by the name of minced birds'-nests, or croquettes of dog-flesh, I could detect no difference in taste.The other guests, however, fully made up for my want of appreciation.

As the meal proceeded, the conversation became more animated.When the subjects dictated by ceremony had been disposed of, the company expressed much interest in my researches and studies.My host questioned me on many points.He was decidedly clever, and although one was apt to forget the solemnity of the occasion on looking at his somewhat ridiculous costume and hat, formed in the shape of a pagoda surmounted by a precious stone the size of a potato, and adorned with waving peacock's feathers—in which attire even the wisest man would look a fool—I could not help being impressed by his sagacity.

He was somewhat reserved, but seemed pleased to talk about his country, and gave me some valuable information when he saw how much interested I was in the ancient history of the land, and the origin of its inhabitants.For they, thousands of years ago, had proceeded from the same stock as the people of my own race, who had founded the kingdom in Pannonia.The foundation of the Manchu empire is connected even more closely than I thought with the migration of the Huns.It would, indeed, open a vast field of study for the historian to seek the connecting link and the affinity existing between the first Magyars and Manchus.

The repast over, the Governor proposed a visit to the imperial tombs, the chief sight of the country.Indeed, there is nothing the people venerate more deeply than those monuments of the defunct members of their dynasty; they are the pride of the nation.

We started without much delay.It was a glorious afternoon, and in the brightness of the autumn sun the country looked its best.Our cavalcade galloped across pasture land, where horses and cattle peaceably grazed together. Here and there a shepherd sought diversion in the consoling melody of some old song, like all human beings whose lives are spent in solitude, and in the contemplation of the immensity of nature. The music was simple and the instrument simpler still, an archaic flute cut out of a reed.

Skirting the far end of the pasture was a dark brushwood; my companions told me that this was the sacred grove containing the imperial tombs.The distance to the town might be about six or seven miles, but our little horses carried us quickly over the ground.The Manchu dignitaries, in their flowing silken robes, their pagoda-like hats, their embroideries and long pigtails, looked unquestionably most picturesque.My mount and my saddle were similar to theirs, pretty, but at the same time I must say that I never rode on anything more uncomfortable than a Chinese saddle of embossed wood, with stirrups in the shape of slippers, and fixed so high that knees and chin nearly meet.

Two large stone monuments flank the path which leads to the sacred grove.Forbidding-looking dragons guard the entrance.A deep cutting gives access to the place of interment, and this long alley is guarded on both sides by monsters of various descriptions.Elephants, camels, gigantic human figures, are placed at intervals facing each other, all cut in stone, and intended to ward off the evil spirits.

The beauty of the place is indescribable.The darkness of the foliage, the white stone statues, and the paved pathway winding through the woods, all help to give it the character of an enchanted forest, where solitude reigns, and the air is full of poetry.

Later we crossed some marble bridges of exquisite workmanship, their curiously sculptured balustrades softly reflecting themselves in the blue waters of the little streams flowing lazily between the flowering banks.I was told that the statues, the streams, and the bridges, have all of them some allegorical meaning in connexion with the spirits of the departed.

At length, passing through a porch, we stood face to face with an arch of such surpassing beauty, that for a moment I was dazed and lost in speechless admiration.Surely this must be one of the greatest, one of the most wonderful architectural creations of the Yellow Empire.Material, design, proportions, all the details, are so supremely beautiful.It is of marble, the arch resting on two huge blocks with cross-bars and buttresses supported by imperial dragons.The decorations are exquisite, and the carving of the friezes unique of its kind.Not even among all the marvellous monuments of Pekin, Nankin, or Hankow, did I find anything to rival it.The beauty of the conception, as well as the finished workmanship, impress one most forcibly, because of its being so perfectly in keeping with the signification of the whole triumphal arch, which symbolizes the passage of the spirit, after a life of strife and victory, to the abodes of their ancestors and everlasting peace. In this respect I know of nothing to compare with it, unless it be that pearl of Asiatic architecture, the Taj Mahal.

The tomb itself is enclosed by courts, halls, sacrificial temples, guard-houses, and sentry-sheds.We left our horses at the inner entrance, and the massive doors of red lacquer-work groaned on their hinges as they were slowly pushed open by half a dozen soldiers.We found ourselves in a square yard, a kind of court of honour, with avenues of trees many centuries old, giants and monsters in stone, and canals fenced in with marble balustrades and arched by bridges.These courts are divided by open galleries which lead to the central pagoda.This square building contains the commemorative tablet, a monument cut out of a single stone of about thirty feet high.The whole stands on a colossal tortoise, larger than two elephants.

Immense cauldrons, big enough to cook a whole ox at a time, for sacrificial purposes, are placed at short distances.Once a year a great ceremony is held in honour of the Great Ancestor. On this occasion the Emperor should be present in person, but for many years the imperial court has been represented by ambassadors; and considering what a journey from Pekin to Mukden involves, it is not surprising that the sovereign is content to be present by proxy. I was told that the mandarins selected to undertake this onerous pilgrimage are often persons whose presence is not desired at Pekin. Their adventurous journey often occupies many months, and often there have been cases in which the envoys never returned at all.

The Great Ancestor was one of the founders of the Manchu dynasty in China, and his real tomb is cut out in the heart of the mountain, but the exact spot is unknown.We spent the greater part of the afternoon among the tombs, and I made the best use I could of the permission to sketch and to take photographs.But the most perfect apparatus, and the pen of the most accomplished narrator, are bound to fail to do justice to the reality.Art and nature are blended so exquisitely here that it is impossible to give an adequate idea of the place.However beautiful the individual monuments may be—and they are very beautiful—the real charm of the ideal site lies in the perfect harmony of solitude and peace.

On the return journey we again passed through the muddy, dreary suburbs.Most of the houses along the dull, deserted roads, are built of clay and covered with straw. Rough planks close the entrance, and from the windows the rice-paper hangs down in tatters. We met several funeral processions, the huge black coffins being carried in front.

I have forgotten to mention that cholera was raging in the town; hundreds of people died daily, and the sanitary conditions of the place were so wretched that nothing could be done to stop it.Considering the manner in which the coolies live, it is only surprising that they do not all succumb.On this account the authorities at first had been averse to the idea of my visit to Mukden, but as there was smallpox in China and typhoid fever in Korea, there did not seem much to choose between the two; and, besides, I was firmly convinced that Providence would let me finish the work I had undertaken to do.

The epidemic broke out three months ago, and had claimed many victims among the Russian troops.The morale of the men was at a very low ebb in consequence.Upon the coolies and the Manchus the effect was different.Their innate fatalism teaches them to look upon death as a benevolent friend, and as they bear away the coffins with the remains of their loved ones, they look as unconcerned as if they were taking them to a place of joy.All the small objects cherished by the dead are placed upon the coffin to be burned at the grave-side, and when the smoke rises up to heaven, popular superstition has it that all these objects assume shape again in a higher sphere, for the gratification of their former owners. It is only right, however, to add, that as the heirs are solicitous to save anything that may be of value, counterfeits of the real things, in paper or cardboard, are often substituted, and so the auto-da-fé takes place only in effigy.

Having been entertained at luncheon by the Chinese Governor, to make the day complete I was the guest of the Russian Resident at dinner.We may criticize the Muscovite system of government, we may censure the ways and means employed by the Russian administration, but there is only one opinion as regards Russian hospitality.No matter what quarter of the globe one comes from, whether one be a political ally or a traditional foe, a Russian never fails in the duties of hospitality.As long as the guest is under his roof he is looked upon as a member of the family.Host and hostess, in fact all the household, go out of their way to show kindness to him.And it is all done on such a lavish scale!His room is overheated, rugs and furs are wrapped round him whether he desires them or not, and above all a special point is made of loading him with food and drink at all hours of the day and of the night.

The Russian Residence, or Consulate, as it is still sometimes called before the world, is a yamen like all other public buildings in China, only perhaps a little more ruinous than those I saw in the morning. The interior is greatly lacking in comfort and luxury. It gives rather the impression of a camp than of a home; there is no furniture beyond what is strictly necessary, and nothing has been done to make it pretty or attractive. The only redeeming feature is the table, which appears to be permanently set for meals. It is covered with quite as many little dishes as the table of the Mandarin, but instead of fruit and sweetmeats, they contain hors-d'œuvres, such as caviare, herrings, smoked salmon, cucumber, and all the innumerable varieties which compose the famous national ZakouskaThere was a perfect array of bottles on the table; I do not remember ever seeing so many crowded on to one table.There were wines from the Crimea, various liqueurs, and vodka.During dinner the guests smoked perfumed cigarettes, and talked of their family affairs and distant homes.It was difficult to realize that the boundless plains of Siberia separated us from the banks of the Neva, for the picture before me was so typically Russian, in all its variety of shades and colours.I almost felt as if I were "in company with the gentlemen" of Tourgueniéff.

My visit to Mukden had certainly been full of interest.Not only the town itself, its famous monuments, and its strangely superannuated people, but the whole situation as it is at present, offers endless scope for speculation.Chinese mandarins and Russian generals, Cossacks and coolies, how oddly they are amalgamated in incoherent groups!What developments may not the future have in store?Truly this is a fascinating problem.Will Manchuria be more prosperous under the new régime?Will the people be able to rise to a higher level?As I took leave of the spot, now so desolate, where the mission settlement once stood, I asked myself whether it would ever be rebuilt and whether men would come forward to take the place of those martyrs who had sacrificed their life in the cause of the orphans and forsaken children of China.Casting one last lingering look upon the place, which I should probably never see again, the dismal outline of the ruined bell-tower seemed to rise up in pathetic protest against human intolerance and blind persecution.

*****

THE RETURN JOURNEY

The city of Mukden contained so much that was of interest to me, that my stay there was prolonged beyond my original intentions.The Governor, to whom I had related all the difficulties and discomforts of my journey, very kindly placed a carriage at my disposal and gave me an escort to see me safely back to the station. But perilous as the outward journey had been, the return was no less full of various emotions.

It was a beautiful autumn day when I left the town.Nature seemed to be making one last effort to assert the power of her charms before falling into her winter sleep.As we passed through the precincts of the city, the gardens literally glittered with colour.All imaginable shades, from copper-tinted saffron to bronzed purple, were there displayed.These gardens are certainly most beautifully cultivated.Presently we emerged into the open plain, and now I had the opportunity, which I had missed before, of forming some idea of the fertility of this privileged land.Manchuria is undoubtedly one of the richest countries in the world.The soil is excellent, the hills are thickly wooded, the mountains abound in minerals.Along the route we passed farms where maize and beans seemed to be chiefly cultivated, and all the people, men, women, and children, were at work in the field.

The landscape is rather monotonous.We traversed a wide plain enclosed by mountains which touch the horizon; but although the scenery cannot be called picturesque, it is not devoid of a certain grandeur. It has a charm peculiar to itself, an atmosphere of vague melancholy. All vast plains, those of Egypt for instance, or of Rajputana, have this same undefinable, intangible characteristic, of which one is faintly conscious without being able to describe it. The people who live in such a free atmosphere are naturally affected by it, and the Manchus possess all the characteristics of a race inhabiting an exposed country.

The Manchu is attached to his native land; he loves to live in the open, and is never so happy as when galloping across the endless plain or hunting in the virgin forests. As we laboriously proceeded on the uneven road, my fancy had full play, and I received new ideas and impressions from these novel surroundings. Since I had explored the interior of the country more carefully, my ideas about Manchuria had certainly undergone a great change. Every now and then, however, my cogitations were rudely interrupted as we jumped over ditches, crawled up or ran down the inclines, and it was a wonder that my poor tarantass was not smashed in the attempt. It may be as well, perhaps, to give some idea of what a tarantass is like. Four small wheels, very far apart, and joined by wooden axles, were fixed in the centre to a long pole, on which the basket, in shape something between a boat and a bath, was fastened. The vibration of this pole takes the place of springs, although it would be incorrect to say that it performed the office of such civilized improvements. But the pole kept the wheels and the basket together, and this, after all, is an accomplishment to be proud of on the highroads of Asia. My carriage was not drawn by mules this time, but I had three horses harnessed abreast, in the Muscovite style. They were small Cossack horses, with long manes and tails, slightly larger than Shetland ponies, strong and lively. The middle one was somewhat bigger than the two others; it could trot, while the ponies to the right and left of it had to gallop all the time, their heads gracefully arched and held a little to one side. The harness was most eccentric, and consisted of straps without number, the use of which it was difficult to see, but the silver-nailed mountings, studded in Eastern fashion, looked decidedly picturesque.

My coachman was a Cossack, and evidently very much impressed with the importance of his mission.About fifteen men formed the escort, their white blouses and flat white caps forming a striking feature in the landscape.They are good-natured, simple-minded folk, these mujiks, with bright blue eyes, clear complexion, and a childlike expression.They are evidently quite at home in this far-away country, for the ways of life in their native land are primitive and patriarchal, and differ but little from those in this foreign land. It is difficult to believe that these men can ever be cruel, and in time of war commit the greatest atrocities in cold blood and almost unconsciously. When the war is over they at once make friends with the conquered people, and freely mix with the yellow tribes. A little two-wheeled cart, containing provisions, and with a young Cossack as driver, completed my escort.

If I were asked what were the most striking objects I passed on the road, I should mention two pagodas, one of which is particularly beautiful, seven storeys high, and richly carved.Monsters of Chinese mythology and all the embellishments which the sickly imagination of that ancient race could devise, have been lavishly represented upon it.We also passed some remarkable commemorative stones—massive blocks, resting on enormous tortoises—on which are inscribed the exploits of the defunct heroes of the country.The many farms on our route testified to the agricultural resources of the land, and the villages are not without interest from a sociological point of view.The houses are very shabby and dilapidated, but what amused me was the number of children there were playing about.There did not seem to be room enough to contain them all, and there were hardly any doors to be seen; the population appears to jump out of the ground like mushrooms. We met carts of various descriptions, pedestrians, strange equipages, and stranger horsemen, and to finish up with, a mandarin travelling in state. This personage was carried in a litter covered with embroidered silk, and the luggage packed, in cases of wonderful lacquer-work, was carried by his men on their backs. Suite and servants followed him in single file, and all the emblems of his dignity, flags, Chinese lanterns, umbrellas, and banners, with various inscriptions, were carried before him. His Excellency was guarded by a detachment of native soldiers, in crimson mantles with lozenge-shaped pieces of velvet let in at the front and back, and elaborately embroidered with Chinese characters. Of course, many of the details of this show were very shabby. The canopy of the litter was torn and faded, the velvet of the uniforms was caked with mud, the banners were in rags, and yet as a whole it was one of the most artistic displays I have ever seen. Asiatics certainly have the knack of making their pageants effective. A mandarin of secondary order, visiting a functionary about equal in rank to a tax-collector, has an escort of followers and soldiers amounting to several dozen men, while the highest Western officials are content with two footmen behind their carriage on grand occasions.

I have already said that the journey back to Mukden station was no improvement on the journey thence, and yet, as I write these lines, seated in my comfortable railway carriage, my adventure, now that it is a thing of the past, seems like a dream to me. To make the story more interesting I must begin at the end, namely, with the dramatic incident of the journey, and tell how we only just escaped being kidnapped or possibly killed by a band of brigands. Thanks to Providence, however, no more serious harm was done to us than the fall of the tarantass into the swollen river, a compulsory bath in full uniform for some of the Cossacks, various bruises and scratches, and a broken litter. The intended attack was changed into flight, and the tragedy turned into a comedy, to the satisfaction of all. I will briefly relate the facts.

When we arrived at the first village, the Cossacks declared that the horses were thirsty, and that a halt was therefore necessary.They all dismounted and hurried into the wayside inn, leaving me alone with the horses.But as I could see neither well nor bucket, I could do nothing for the poor beasts.After a while the men returned, and there was no mistaking the state of affairs. If the horses had had no water, the men had found plenty to drink. Presently we came to another village, and the same thing occurred there, only this time they did not trouble to invent any excuse, and never mentioned the thirsty horses. I need hardly say that after each halt the conversation waxed more animated, and the horses were pushed on more furiously. After the third stoppage the situation became alarming. They no longer talked, but all shouted at once, the clatter of their voices being intermixed with snatches of popular songs, while the trot of the horses changed to a gallop.

I felt desperate, for I knew that I was quite powerless against the inveterate national custom of these children of nature.They continued, however, to behave well towards me, and treated me with the greatest respect.They were only very hilarious, that was all.They shouted and sang and waved their red kerchiefs as we sped along.

The last hamlet passed, and there being no further chance of obtaining refreshment until Mukden station was reached, a steeplechase was proposed across country, to the station.I cannot tell what distance we thus covered, for the speed at which we went exceeded all my previous experiences.The race over the uneven ground caused me many different sensations. Across the plain it was rapid and exciting, and I fully participated in the exhilaration of these wild children. Across the cultivated ground it was pleasant enough for those on horseback, but to me, in my tarantass, it was like being on the rack.But it was in crossing the maize-fields that I suffered most.

The race increased in speed.Horses and men completely lost their heads, and it was no longer a question of restraining them.The horses took the bits between their teeth and simply went like the wind.We seemed to fly over the ditches and tore through the reed hedges.Some of the animals slipped and the men fell head over heels in the mud, while guns and swords described glittering circles in the air.Finally, in trying to clear a deep creek, one of the wheels of the provision-cart came off, and all the contents were scattered.Then, to my joy, I saw looming in the distance, like a haven of refuge, the miserable shed which is called Mukden station.

I lay down at the bottom of the tarantass, with a feeling of deliverance near at hand. I must explain that my straw seat had fallen to pieces at an early stage of our mad race, so that the only way to remain in the tarantass was by lying down at the bottom and holding on to the sides. But even this comparative degree of comfort was extended to me for only a short time, for suddenly I received a terrible shock; there was a grinding noise produced by the carriage, followed by an exclamation from the driver, unintelligible to me; the sound of horses struggling in the water; and finally I felt an icy wave dashing over me. I thought I was drowning, and instinctively raised myself in my basket. We were in the middle of a river which had overflowed its banks! My little horses were half submerged. Some of the Cossacks were still in the saddle; others were wading through the muddy stream up to their waists in water. They were all in a state of great excitement, talking and shouting, but all quite cheerful. Some were washing their scratches, others struggling desperately to rescue their belongings, which were floating away on the stream, and the horses, at last, with supreme contentment, were able to drink their fill of the water so long withheld and so fully deserved.

The steeplechase under ordinary conditions may be a noble sport and may have its charm and many dangers, but it cannot be compared with such a cross-country race in a tarantass, escorted by a detachment of Cossacks.And yet, in spite of all, I am indebted to these hardy companions, for their mad escapade and their wild merriment saved our lives.Whilst in full career, with horses neighing, Cossacks shouting, and swords flashing, we became aware of a body of men, who had presumably been hiding in the bushes, escaping towards the distant woods. Evidently they thought we were pursuing them, and they fled in disorder. I learnt afterwards that it was a band of those Chunchuses who have been the terror of the district for many years, and very likely the same I met on my previous journey. Not long ago they kidnapped Mr. Wetzel, the director of the East China Railway, whose adventures have been described at length in the newspapers. He was carried into the interior, underwent the most terrible tortures, and was on the verge of losing his mind when his ransom arrived.

If my Cossacks had not indulged in that steeplechase my journey might have had a tragic ending.Thanks to our furious riding, we startled the band lying in wait for a prey; but if they had seen us quietly proceeding like ordinary travellers along the highroad, they would undoubtedly have attacked us; and I will therefore conclude with the well-known proverb: "All's well that ends well."

---

V

PORT ARTHUR, DALNY, NIU-CHWANG, TIEN-TSIN

The country between Mukden and Port Arthur is the granary of Manchuria.Rice, corn, and maize grow in great profusion, and there are from thirty-five to forty different kinds of peas and beans.Chinese agriculture is based on excellent principles.The system of irrigation and the methods of working fully deserve our attention; but the plentiful harvests are chiefly due to the remarkable mode of manuring.The same piece of ground can yield several crops in rotation in one year.It would seem that the land never requires to lie fallow.

As I watched the Chinese farmers and labourers, I was vividly struck by the contrast between this peace-loving, agricultural population, and the armed Cossacks who lined the route.The nearer we came to the coast the more numerous they seemed to become, and there were more and larger barracks also.Yet the Russian military and the Chinese farmers appear to live on friendly terms with one another.I frequently saw Russian soldiers and Chinamen sitting at the same table, merrily talking together, and I even noticed signs of Russification among the natives, for many pigtails were twisted up and hidden under a Russian schapkaThey eat the same food with an equally good appetite, and appear to have many tastes in common.If, during the Boxer agitation, the Russian troops behaved with exceptional cruelty towards the natives, it is certain that at present there is a perfect understanding between them.And after all they belong more or less to the same stock; their historic past is very similar, and they both live the same primitive life.

*****

I was now nearing the end of my journey, and although the progress had been slow it had been full of incidents.The last obstacle on the route we encountered at Liaoyang, where a bridge had been swept away.I was prepared for this delay, for some weeks before, the station-master at Harbin had given me a thrilling account of the accident.I remember wondering at the time whether he was exaggerating and trying to dissuade me from penetrating further into the interior of Manchuria; but when I saw the state of affairs at Liaoyang I realized that his story had been perfectly true.The scene before me was one of general confusion.Thousands of Russian soldiers and Chinese coolies were engaged in carting sand, cutting poles, and fixing rails; all talking and shouting at once in different tongues and dialects.

It was a veritable babel.About a thousand men were occupied in constructing a bridge of stone and iron.A few thousand others were throwing up sandbanks to check the water, while another gang of workmen was making a pontoon.We stopped several hours and no one seemed to know how or when we should get across.But the scene was so exciting, and gave me such an excellent opportunity of watching the Chinese at work, that I did not grudge the delay.At last some engineering officers suggested dividing the train and trying to take it across by the pontoon in portions.

How it was exactly managed I am unable to describe, for what with the jerking and bumping of my carriage, and the whistling, creaking, and groaning of the engine over the swaying pontoon, I had no chance of making observations.And when the temporary rails over the pontoon became submerged and the waves dashed up to my carriage door, I followed the example of the stoker and the guard and stood on the step, barefooted, ready to jump and attempt to swim to land if the whole tottering structure should collapse and disappear under the waves.

Thus ended my journey across Manchuria.Many delays and excursions into the interior had retarded my progress, but at last I arrived safe and sound at Port Arthur, where I remained two days, including a visit to Dalny. Port Arthur, as I saw it, was merely a military station on the extremity of the peninsula of Liaotung. At one time it was the chief naval arsenal of China, but after the war with Japan its defences and military works were destroyed. When, in 1898, the Russians leased the two places, Port Arthur and Dalny, they made the former into a great military and naval fortress. It was placed under the control of an admiral who had chief command over the troops and the maritime forces. He had under him a double staff of naval and military officers, comprising the commander of the port, the chiefs of the naval staff, the riflemen, the artillery, the engineering service, and the intelligence department, the harbour master, the chief of the torpedo division, the first assistant to the commander of the port, the second assistant, the commander of the commercial port, the ordnance officers of the Governor-General, the civil governor, the diplomatic agent, the secretary of finances, and the chief of the police.

Port Arthur undoubtedly has a very complicated form of administration, and at first it was suggested that it should be made into an eastern Kronstadt, or the Asiatic citadel of the great empire.The place itself and the surrounding hills are full of fortifications, and I have been assured over and over again that it would be perfectly impossible to take it by sea. It is one long line of arsenals, torpedo depots, barracks, and encampments. The fact that Port Arthur is essentially a military port is not disguised; there are only a few buildings, including those of the East China Railway Company and the Russo-Chinese Bank, which do not openly serve military purposes.

A new town has grown up on the opposite side to satisfy the demands of trade.This is called Dalny, and is situated on the bay of Talienwan, to the north-west of Port Arthur.The territory, like that of Port Arthur, was given in lease by China, and it is intended to make this into a free port connected by the Manchurian Railway with Vladivostok, Moscow, the Black Sea, and the Baltic.It might in time become the great commercial centre of the extreme East.The port is about six miles long and very deep, and offers exceptional facilities for navigation.

Dalny in its present condition has a somewhat paradoxical aspect.Palaces emerge from the sands, public monuments fill the deserted squares, avenues and boulevards are traced out on the shore.Dalny is the hope of the partisans of Russian commerce and progress, while Port Arthur is the pride of the military party.The development of the former is encouraged by the energetic efforts of Mr. White; the latter finds a powerful protector in General Kuropatkin.

Port Arthur impressed me greatly on account of its strategic importance, but what I saw of Dalny did not inspire me with much confidence as to its commercial future.During my visit I saw all that has been accomplished since 1898, and certainly, although many things are still far from perfect, and the mistakes made are very palpable even to the uninitiated, one cannot fail to recognize that much has been done in so short a time.But if we knew at what cost all this has been accomplished, our admiration would probably be considerably reduced.

No boat for Taku was likely to start for some time, so I decided to continue my journey to Pekin by rail.As far as Ying-tsé we travelled over the main Manchurian line, whence a branch line runs to Niu-chwang.This is the most northerly port of the Yellow Empire open to foreign trade.It is situated at a distance of thirteen miles from the mouth of the river Liao, which discharges into the gulf of Liaotung, a continuation of the gulf of Pechili.The railway line, which brings Niu-chwang into direct communication with Siberia and Pekin, was just finished.Branch lines in the direction of Tien-tsin had existed before this, but they were destroyed in the late Boxer troubles.To give my readers a somewhat accurate idea of the importance of this town I will try to quote from the Official journals:—

The town of Niu-chwang is rapidly growing in importance since the construction of the railway.The East China Railway between Port Arthur, Dalny, and the junction of Ta-shik-chia, whence a branch line runs to Port Arthur, was finished as far as Mukden towards the close of 1899.The Chinese Imperial line was also completed then.It was subsequently decided to deal systematically with the mineral resources of Manchuria, owing to the East China line having laid open the coal-mines at Mochi-Shan and Z'mershan near the Liaoyang, and at Wafungtien in the south of the Liaotung peninsula.The railway line runs right along these rich exploitations.An unprecedented commercial activity has accompanied these developments, resulting in an increase of 49 per cent.for 1898.

The chief articles of trade for this port are beans and oil-cake, with an export of 2,241,053 piculs of the former and 2,289,544 piculs of the latter in 1899.The net quantity of opium imported in 1898 was 92 piculs as against 2453 in 1879.The importation of opium has been steadily declining in the course of the last few years, the poppy seed being largely and successfully cultivated in Manchuria.The total figure of the trade of this port for 1899 has risen to 48,357,623 taels as against 32,441,315 in 1898. The port figured conspicuously in the disturbances of 1900; the Chinese troops which attacked the town being defeated by the Russians, who took possession of the port. Trade was necessarily at a standstill in 1900.

Niu-chwang was a revelation to me.I saw for the first time a real Chinese town in all its immensity.It appeared an inextricable labyrinth of streets and alleys overflowing with people.All our Western ideas are reversed here; indeed, buildings and people alike seemed to belong not only to another hemisphere, but to another planet.The lines are so strange, the colours so brilliant, the sounds so sharp, that one is at once deafened, blinded, and astonished.Beyond the city, on the solid earth, is the floating town on the river.The Liao at this point, little more than half a mile wide, is literally covered with vessels of every description.

It is a thronged mass of large merchant ships, smaller boats, and wooden junks.Each boat is a home, in which always one, and often several, families are housed with all their belongings: children, pigs, and poultry filling the decks.Those of the better classes who can afford it have regular summer-houses on the river, built like pagodas, elaborately furnished and surrounded by artificial gardens with dwarf trees in costly pots.In between this confusion of boats, narrow passages and regular canals are left free on the water, in which graceful canoes are seen gliding and winding about like gondolas. Both on land and water, the crowds of human beings, and exuberance of life, are overwhelming.

One feels ill at ease and lost among this surging mass of humanity.The narrowest streets and the largest squares, the courts and the floating houses, all teem with life; and, in contrast with the sleepy, passive multitudes of India, all are active here, from the youngest to the oldest.All seem intent on their business, all appear to have some strenuous end in view.The capacity for work which this race possesses manifests itself everywhere from morning till night.Chinese strength and vitality are here seen in all their original energy and force.

Niu-chwang is an important place even now, but it has every possibility and likelihood of becoming one of the great commercial centres of the future.Its international trade has been hitherto hindered by the fact that the river is frozen for three months in the year, but since the completion of the Tien-tsin line the town has become easy of access by land.A railway bridge over the Liao is projected, and when this is built the train will run directly from Pekin to St.Petersburg.At present travellers have to cross the river in wooden junks, and continue their journey by the Chinese trains.

In the centre of the commercial town is the settlement of the Catholic Mission.Buried in a maze of tortuous streets, it is almost lost sight of in the bustle and noise of the adjacent fair, giving the impression of some Oriental bazaar.The little church, and the few small houses belonging to the Mission, are enclosed as far as possible by a whitewashed garden wall, which is but a poor protection in case of siege or serious disorders.If the populace were to show signs of hostility that ruinous wall would not hold out long against the mob; but they who join the Mission, who devote their lives to deeds of charity, who feed the starving, and care for the destitute, put their trust in a defence stronger than the strongest towers of this world.From the time that the missionary leaves his native land and offers his life to the Almighty, he spends his days in a constant state of uncertainty.From the moment that he sets foot on the shores of the Yellow Empire dangers of all kinds crowd around him.These martyrs to duty are continuously exposed to open and secret persecution, terrible epidemics, privations, and hardships of all kinds.Yet in spite of manifold trials and dangers, young priests and nuns who have only just taken the vow, go over to the Far East, happy and full of zeal, ready to devote their lives to the noble spiritual work.

On the day of my departure from Niu-chwang I had the good fortune to witness an historical event, the official transfer of the railway to the Chinese Governor-General of Manchuria.Since the last war the route between Niu-chwang and Hankau-chwang had been under the military control of Russia, while the other route between the latter town and Tien-tsin was held by British troops.There were great festivities in honour of the day.The station buildings were decorated with all the pomp of Asiatic taste; everywhere Venetian masts, floating banners, Chinese inscriptions, and Russian trophies, announced the great event, with laurel garlands symbolizing victory, and olive branches speaking of eternal peace.Ambitious mandarins and gold-bedizened Russian generals exchanged salutes and bows in sign of mutual respect.No doubt it was a case of "live and let live," for all appeared quite satisfied.

An interminable programme marked the order of the festivities, and if I had had an aptitude for journalism I could have written columns upon "The Official Transfer of the East China Railway Line by Russia to China."I could have indulged in lengthy descriptions of the receptions, presentations, floral offerings, banquets, with streams of champagne, and endless flow of toasts.But the best correspondent could not have said more than I have done here upon the principal event, the actual transfer of the railway. He could not have pierced, any more than I could, that thick veil which hides from us the knowledge as to whether that railway has actually become Chinese property or not.

The country between Niu-chwang and Hankau-chwang is at first flat and uninteresting, although rich in vegetation.Nearer to the sea it becomes more varied, and in parts it is quite picturesque.Some of the bays of the Yellow Sea—which, by the by, is intensely blue just there—resemble the fjords and are dominated by craggy rocks.We advanced slowly and stopped at many stations, the Russian soldiers still always predominating over the native contingent.

It was late in the evening, when our train, with much noise, passed through the breach in the famous wall, by which I was greatly impressed.That enormous mass of masonry, one of the most colossal structures ever made by human hands, is here seen to the best advantage, skirting the steep inclines of the mountains, ascending to the tops of the highest peaks, or descending into the plains to lose itself finally in the unfathomable depths of the sea.

It is indeed a wonderful sight, and, like that other gigantic human undertaking, the Pyramids of Egypt, this wall is interesting, not only for its own sake, but also as marking a stage in the history of the civilization of the world. I gazed at it, and looked at our powerful engine, with its long train of American-built carriages, as it passed through the breach, and in that one glance there was much to comprehend both from the past and for the future of Asia.

At Hankau-chwang a surprise awaited me.The English troops had finished their mission, and on this momentous occasion the commander gave a dinner.The guests were assembled in the little yamen near the station.The dining-room was tastefully draped and hung with pretty watercolours.Books and knick-knacks lay about, and the table was covered with an immaculately white cloth and set out with a dinner-service of severe simplicity, but scrupulously clean.A simple abode it was, but every detail of it would bring to temporary inmates the pleasant recollections of the comforts and the charm of their English homes.

Another interesting stage of my journey was from Hankau-chwang to Tien-tsin, through one of the richest districts of China.Our train stopped frequently, for we touched many important towns.Trade is brisk in this part.In places the ground was cultivated like a vegetable garden, but the real wealth of the district lies in its coal-mines.In the way of structural curiosities the two chief sites on the road were the country house of Li Hung-Chang and Fort Taku.

The late Viceroy and great politician had also been a clever financier.His weakness for speculation and commercial enterprise was well-known throughout the country.The coal-mines of this neighbourhood were partly his property.He not only looked well after his personal affairs, but also took care to inquire into the financial position of those with whom he dealt.Whenever he entertained a foreign diplomatist, or granted an interview to the director of some international company, or even the head of some ordinary business house desirous of gaining information about special concessions or privileges, the first question the Viceroy asked invariably was: "What is he worth?How rich is he?"The success of a petition depended, so I was told, to a great extent upon the sum of money poured into the coffers of the statesman as a preliminary investment.

Fort Taku does not need to be described at length.It has played a conspicuous part in the history of the last five-and-twenty years—in the struggles between the West and the East, the White and the Yellow races.It has been several times bombarded, destroyed, and rebuilt.At present it is again in ruins.

There is now a new commercial town in course of erection.In the place of the old-world style, modern colonists have introduced a somewhat vulgar and insipid form of architecture, which possesses neither the picturesqueness of the old Chinese towns nor the advantages of our European cities. The colony is as yet in its infancy, and only counts a few rows of small houses and some miserable shops.

The last stopping-place on my journey was Tien-tsin.Situated on the crossing of the Peiho and the Grand Canal, this is one of the most important towns of China.It has a population of over a million, and is divided into the city proper, the foreign confines, and the suburbs.The old part is a perfect specimen of a Chinese town, overpopulated, brilliant, noisy, and dirty; a hustling, bustling crowd of humanity living like bees in a hive.It contains many interesting monuments, although the chief attraction of the city no longer exists, I mean its enclosure, the wall which surrounded a square of four thousand feet.It was pulled down to make room for trade traffic.

The European quarter is very different in character; it has large squares, shady avenues, and beautiful buildings.Each nation represented there has a little colony of its own, with barracks, commercial offices, and consular residences.The English colony, which is close to the French, boasts of the best buildings, has large, well-kept streets, and is guarded by some very fine-looking Sikhs.The large dwelling-houses, the homely bungalows, and the turbaned figures of the tall soldiers, remind one of some Indian cantonment. The Italian and Austrian quarters are on the other side of the canal, and almost lost among the native town. Since the occupation of the Allied Troops the importance of Tien-tsin has grown considerably, and in time it is likely to become a powerful rival to Shanghai as far as international commercial interests are concerned. In fact, it has all the commercial advantages of Shanghai. When we consider that at the time of the Ming dynasty it occupied only a secondary position, its development is the more remarkable. Tien-tsin is about eighty miles distant from Pekin, and lies near the sea; its commercial advantages as the market for export and import trade are therefore evident.

The railway has added another considerable advantage to the many already possessed by Tien-tsin, namely that of bringing it into direct communication with the mainland.Li Hung-Chang, who, in his capacity of Viceroy, resided there for many years, was a strong supporter of the place.Under him it became, not only a large commercial centre, but with the normal schools for the organization of army and navy, other elements were attracted towards the place, and different occupations introduced.

Tien-tsin, in fact, has become the home of the progressive party.Pamphlets, daily papers, literary and political clubs, have propagated the views and ideas of the great Viceroy. It was Li Hung-Chang who started the first coal-pit in the neighbourhood of Tong-shan, about thirty years ago, and the export of coal is making rapid progress. The output amounts at present to nearly three hundred thousand tons. Another local industry of great importance is the production of salt. This is a Government monopoly, and is obtained through the evaporation of sea-water. The salt lies piled up in heaps along the banks of the river. Spirituous liquors are distilled in large quantities and sent into the interior. The exports include wines, furs, skins, bristles, and wood. Export trade, which did not exist five-and-twenty years ago, now reaches a total of about fifteen million taels per annum.

From the time of the first European expedition in 1858, Tien-tsin has been the scene of much fighting and many desperate battles.During the last rebellion the disturbances were greater there than anywhere else, and it was there also that the Boxers, in the beginning of June, 1900, set fire to the Foreign Mission settlements.At first no one seemed to realize the imminence of the danger, and it was not until the second half of the same month, after the bombardment of Taku, that hostilities, attended with all the horrors of war, were seriously commenced.The attack on the European colony, the blockade of the barracks, the destruction of the railway station, and the massacre of the missionaries and Christians, followed each other rapidly. Eye-witnesses have given us graphic descriptions of the atrocities committed during the insurrection. The bravery of the troops, the missionaries, the Christian women, and the children, has excited the admiration of the world. Many ruins still testify to this prolonged siege.

The chief event of my stay in this place was my visit to the Viceregal Palace.If Li Hung-Chang had been a great statesman, his successor was not unworthy of him.Yuan-tsi-Khai and Chan-chi-Tung are the two most prominent men of modern China.Nature has endowed them very differently, but they are alike zealous in their endeavours to rouse China from its apathy.Although the ways and means by which they hope to effect their object are different, the end in view is the same.Chan-chi-Tung is a peace-loving man, an ardent follower of the doctrine of Confucius, and strongly attached to the national principles of morality.He favours reform in undertakings of a purely commercial and industrial nature, in financial transactions; but in intellectual and spiritual questions he is very conservative.In his own province he has made successful attempts at improvement.He has established factories, cotton mills and looms, forges, local railways, and an important arsenal on the Yangtse-kiang.

His adversaries—and he has many, like every one who rises above the common level—accuse him of being an idealist.But in most cases his ideas, practically carried out, have proved to be of very real benefit to his country.He is a deep thinker and a most pleasant and interesting companion.His writings on various political and social questions are fine specimens of human philosophy.

Yuan-tsi-Khai is, on the contrary, before all a man of action, a soldier at heart.He loves to fight his enemies and to press forward without considering the difficulties in the way.

My sojourn at Tien-tsin was of special service to me in obtaining clearer ideas as to the actual conditions of China.I made the acquaintance of many interesting persons, some of whom are the makers of the history of our time.They were not all of the same nationality, nor did they all pursue the same vocation, nor were they all of the same mind; their opinions also were widely different.But it is to a certain extent owing to the antagonism of their views that I was enabled to form some provisional conclusions.

It was on a bright afternoon of the short St.Martin's summer that I accomplished the last twenty-four miles of my long railway journey across the two continents. As I neared my final destination, Pekin, and passed through the flat and barren country I could hardly realize that I had traversed such an enormous distance during the last few months. I tried to recall to mind the different countries I had passed through and their inhabitants, the prosperous towns and the miserable villages I had visited; the centres of civilization and the primitive solitudes.

Then I began to comprehend all I had seen.Much of my previous conceptions of this part of the world had been vague, for the difference between what one imagines and what actually is, is great!One may gather the most reliable information, listen to the most explicit descriptions, or study the best books, but how far all this falls short of personal experience!The best references, the most accurate figures, the most lucid writings, will never produce the same effect as reality, and it is not upon those somewhat abstract notions that our faculties are exercised with the greatest profit.What one feels has even more weight than what one sees, and psychological studies are of greater value than statistics.To know a country, it is the life, the everyday existence, of its inhabitants that we have to study.Life in all its varied expressions, in labour and in rest, in its fundamental principles and its manifold manifestations, this it is which reveals to us the deep source from which the energizing elements flow in diverse directions.

It was growing dark as we neared the end of our journey. On the platforms of the small stations we passed, I saw foreign soldiers belonging to the Allied Forces; here fair Teuton giants, there short, brown bersaglieriAnd at each succeeding station there was more movement, more confusion, till we reached the metropolis.The sun was setting as we skirted the imperial deer park.Every moment the light effects increased in beauty.The sombre masses of foliage, framed by the blue lines of the eastern hills, formed an enchanting picture.

Outlines and colours were so unexpected, so strangely blended, that it looked like a painting from the magic brush of some great Chinese master.The forests stood out dark and menacing, as if still sheltering the monsters and dragons of ancient folk-lore, and the hills were like so many pointed sugar-loaves, heaped up by some awful giants.

It was as perfect a Chinese landscape as I could have wished to see, and to crown all, the sun went down in a blaze of light; it was as if fiery darts were being shot across the flaming sky.I have seen many sunsets in the tropics, and in the East, but never anything to equal this.The brightness of it flooded with saffron the clouds of dust always hanging over the capital, and illumined all the million atoms which rise from the Mongolian desert....

At an unexpected turn in the road it seemed as if the golden veil was torn aside to give me a glimpse of the mysterious city.The stage effect was perfect; the curtain might have been drawn by a clever manager's hand to reveal the great Hatamen Gate in all its magnificence.The famous crenellated walls; the lofty towers and proud pagodas, first described by Marco Polo; the heavy bastions, and the marble bridges, were but indistinctly visible, and therefore all the more suggestive and beautiful.In fact, my first impression of Pekin was of a fancy or dream.What the city really looked like was as yet mercifully hidden from me; my imagination could have full play, untrammelled by the disillusions of knowledge and experience.Afterwards I saw things differently, but that first day the great city of the mighty Khan seemed as a mirage to me.

The crumbling citadel of a great nation, nay, of the whole glory of a mighty race, the monument of its art, the Walhalla of its history, shone in the dazzling splendour of the afterglow, like a golden city floating on golden clouds.

---

VI

PEKIN

I
THE ARRIVAL

It is evening when I arrive in Pekin.The train stops outside the Tartar Wall.Darkness shrouds everything, and the place seems to be deserted.Not even a guard or porter is to be seen.Alongside the embankment a few coolies with gigantic lanterns are waiting for the passengers, and, in quaint procession, with innumerable balloons hanging from long bamboo sticks, are searching for their masters.They all shout, but no one seems to understand them.There is no trace of any vehicles or carriages, and I don't see even a platform.I am standing in the midst of a desert; behind me, some sandhills and a pool are all I can distinguish, and in front, among the crowd of coolies, a tall figure is conspicuous, which approaches, and, by the yellow rays of a pumpkin-like lantern, I recognize an old acquaintance.Here he occupies the position of First Secretary of Legation, and brings me an invitation from his chief.My trunks are taken in charge by an attendant, and we walk towards my new abode, which my friend tells me is close by.

It is explained to me that the present railway station is only a temporary one; only since the occupation by the Allied Forces have trains been able to penetrate as far as the inner wall.They used to have to stop miles away, as no engine was allowed to desecrate the holy city of Pekin.At a short distance from the temporary station is a tunnel-like opening in the wall, and I am informed that it was made for the use of members of the legations and foreign settlement, and has ex-territorial rights granted to it.I pass through the so-called Gate of the Nations full of expectation, for I am most anxious for surprises, which certainly are not wanting.

I hope to see before me a fairy city and scenes like those on the stage; but instead of splendour and glitter I see mist.By the flickering light of a few paraffin lamps I begin to distinguish the famous international quarter, but I feel it would be better if they were not lit, for they only disclose ruins and débris.Among heaps of bricks and mortar we reach the edge of a ditch of stagnant water, which, as my companion informs me, not without some pride, is the so-called Canal of Jade.It is a magnificent name, which I have known for a long time.If I have pictured it to myself as different from what it is in reality, it is not the fault of an exaggerated fancy; and as we stumble along in the lane skirting the ditch—I beg its pardon; on the banks of the waters of Jasper—I still cannot perceive anything else but garden walls. I don't even see the famous Jade Stream, for though long ago there may have been water in the ditch, there are now only puddles here and there. But if I can't see, I smell all the more; smell all kinds of unimaginable and imaginable odours.

At last we approach a gate with a martial sentry in front of it.The password is given, and we are at last at home.In the courtyard, on the edge of the grass, are a number of lanterns.Large and yellow, they look like melons.The effect is charming, but as they give but very indifferent light, I can only distinctly discern some pillars and arches.Now we pass through some open halls and reach a garden-like square.To the right and left from the windows of small summer-houses the light of candles filters through.In front is another building in the same style, a few columns supporting a heavy roof; the columns are of red lacquered wood, and the tiles of emerald-green.Beyond this is another garden, and lastly the legation proper.The door is open and the hall ablaze with light.On the broad staircase are servants in red—pigtailed Chinese, dressed after the fashion of their country.They salute us, bowing low, with their hands folded.

The scene is interesting, the setting fine.By the light of the lanterns the roof of the old yamen appears even more gabled than it is, and its eaves the more bizarre than in reality. At last I have before me a truly Chinese picture, thousands of years old, artistic and brilliant. But the scene quickly changes as we go inside, and from the past we come to the present, from Oriental surroundings we step into a Western interior.

*****

The rays of the rising sun wake me as they burst brightly into the courtyard of the yamen, filtering, rosy-coloured, through the embrasures of the crenellated walls.

My quarters have a verandah looking upon a small courtyard, the pillars of which are of ruby lacquer, its roof of emerald glaze.In the yard are many flowers planted in old china vases.Four cedars, ages old, stand in the corners, and their branches form a lovely shady tent under the canopy of a morning sky.The branches of the old trees and the eaves are swarming with birds which awake with me, and merry with their songs.

On opening my eyes I scarcely know whether I am awake or still dreaming.It takes me some time to realize my surroundings.In the little garden some one is noiselessly crossing the grass in paper shoes.He wears a light blue kaftan over a white tunic, and the colours harmonize well, for this slate-blue suits his yellow complexion, and a long pigtail hangs down his back.

This is reality.I am indeed in the Flowery Land.I am actually awaking in Pekin.

II
THE FIRST DRIVE THROUGH THE TOWN

It is eight o'clock in the evening.I have just returned from Pei-tang; it takes nearly an hour to come from there.And what a road!Imagine a brilliant stereoscope with living figures rushing forward upon you as you gaze—a gigantic kaleidoscope in which, among multitudinous and dazzling fragments a heap of ants are busy.And if we look at these through a magnifying glass, the effect will be somewhat similar to one's first impression of Pekin.Bedlam, uproar, chaos; and all this half concealed by a veil of whirling dust.It would be difficult to recount what I have seen, and even more difficult to explain what my sensations were.I was amazed by the brilliant spectacle.

It is early in the morning when I set out on my exploring expedition.From the street in which the legation stands we suddenly turn into the grand Imperial Square.The yellow-roofed palace in front of us may be called the focus of Pekin, nay, the centre of the whole Yellow Empire, for every road leads thither.

The principal street is broad, crossing the wall of the Tartar city. A few miles farther to the south it strikes the Chinese town, and through gates like triumphal arches, and over bridges, across moats, and skirting bastions, reaches the open. This is the perspective before me: my eyes penetrate in a straight line, almost any distance, to the sea at the farthermost point of the realm, but the crowd is so dense and the traffic so thick, and there are such clouds of dust, that we can hardly see what is going on within a yard of us. Caravans of camels, people on horseback, carriages, and carts follow each other incessantly. Every moment we narrowly escape a collision. It is a wonder that numbers of the shaky little vehicles do not get smashed, for there is a continuous stream of fresh phantom-like objects.

The palace is surrounded by a high wall painted red, and roofed with yellow tiles.Red likewise is the large gate studded with yellow nails.In fact, there are three gates side by side—in China everything is threefold—but they are all closed.In front of them are sentries, for the palace is sacred, and entrance into it means decapitation.On the other side are small shops and stores, in the windows of which are exhibited motley wares, while the façades are carved with a hundred and one very quaint pictures.What they represent I am at a loss to know.

We escape into one of the many side streets. It is narrow, dark, and seems to be endless, running along between the houses like a river, to right and left.

Now we reach something like a desert.I cannot call it a common, because there is no grass; there is nothing but dust and dirt.Farther away are some ruins, and still farther a red wall can be seen.It is again the wall of the Imperial city, that gigantic structure that follows us wherever we go.It is either in front of us or behind us, on one side or the other.Beyond the wilderness are rows of houses.Behind huge walls the tops of some shadowy trees are visible now and again, the gabled roofs of yamens and a few flagstaffs.

A little more wilderness is followed by a few rows of houses, and beyond them come some streets; shops crowded with customers, and, lastly, the ubiquitous red wall again.

In the middle of the wall is the gate, a wooden structure, with gabled towers and aggressively golden dragons painted on it, and little bells hanging down from the corners.Crowds are streaming from the archway; sunburnt coolies endeavouring to get their light carts over the marble steps.Now we face the broad Imperial street.The shops on both sides are still more carved and gilt than the others.The gables are like umbrellas blown inside out by the wind, and the edges do not lack ornament, being decorated with carved tassels and lace and every conceivable trimming. The signboards are well worth studying. Some are of wood, others of metal, cast iron, or paper; but all display glaring colours. No wonder they attract the attention of passersby. The shoemakers' wooden signs are of unusually large size, showing the latest fashion in foot-gear either painted or carved, and apparently floating in the clouds or in higher spheres. The sign is generally suspended in the claws of some grinning monster or lion by a chain that is fastened to the eaves. Next in point of merit are the signs of the Pekin apothecaries, who in this respect decidedly excel us; and the pawnbrokers' symbols deserve even more attention than the others from an artistic point of view.

The pavement is occupied by stalls and booths, their only protection from the sun being a sheet of canvas fixed to a pole.The wares are spread out on the ground.Street kitchens abound, consisting of little earthenware stoves or small iron grates which are used for cooking.Half-naked workmen are huddled round the tables, which are covered with little mugs about as large as teacups, each containing something different, hundreds of delicacies with sauces both bitter and sweet at once.Long thin sticks are used instead of forks, and the skill shown in the handling of them is simply astonishing.I have never seen people eat more daintily.A dinner of eight or nine courses can be had for about one farthing. With their chopsticks they pick out some of the solid dishes, seasoning them with four or five different sauces. The Chinese are the greatest gourmets in the world, for I notice that the ordinary meals of labourers are more complicated than the choicest menu of a French chef.

The end of the street is enclosed by a wall—the usual red wall—the inner defence of the Imperial city.Here stands the Western Gate, and the monumental quarter, with yellow tiled roofs, begins.In front of it is a sentry, the entrance to the garden being strictly prohibited.

My way is not in that direction, but to the north.In the centre of the park, which has recently been replanted, stands the cathedral, finished a few months ago.

The work of the Chinese Missions is written on one of the latest pages of universal history.The events of two years ago are still vividly impressed on our memories, when the few hundred Christians who had sought refuge at the Mission in Pei-tang seemed to be doomed.No one believed that they could stand the siege of the frantic mob, for, except a garden wall a few feet high, there were no means of defence.It was due to the most resolute courage and valour that the little flock did not surrender.Old and young, priests and soldiers, fought side by side in the breaches from morning to night.

During the weary weeks of the siege many fell under arms, and many more among the orphans and sisters of charity died of exhaustion.

The recent graves forming the small cemetery in the inner garden were dug to receive the bodies of these new martyrs.

But, after all, Christian faith triumphed over pagan hatred, and finally the hour of deliverance struck.And today Pei-tang and its cathedral stand finer and stronger than before, to the benefit of humanity and the glory of God.

III
THE NEW LEGATION QUARTERS

It is now a month since I arrived in Pekin.The autumn has passed quickly—and October is the finest time during the whole year in the yellow capital, for the weather is mild and clear.In the morning it is cool, and frosts are not rare at night.But later in the day the skies are cloudless, and the sun is often as hot as in summer.As regards climate—which, by the way, is an important factor in the life and progress of a nation—Pekin is a bundle of contrasts.The summer is hot, the winter extremely cold, the spring wet, and the autumn very dry.Since my arrival there has been no rain, but occasionally it has become cloudy, and as dark as if the sun were eclipsed.The wind, when blowing from the north, sweeps sand from the desert of Gobi before it, and shrouds the whole town in a veil as it were. This sand spreads over the whole atmosphere like a dense fog, through which one can hardly see a yard's distance. It penetrates windows, doors, even cracks, and buries the whole district like a stream of lava. After a sand-storm the sky clears, and becomes bluer than the blue dome of the Mediterranean, smooth and translucent as though cut out of a gigantic sapphire. This contrast between dull and bright weather seems to create two distinct towns; in the one all is gloomy, in the other all is bright. That is the reason why those who have described Pekin have either found everything sombre, or have looked upon it through rosy spectacles. The truth lies between the two extremes. I go so far as to say that each is correct—but only relatively.

The traveller who would describe Pekin ought to make daily notes of what he has seen and heard when he sees and hears it, and use light and shade as an artist on his canvas.He who adopts this method will be more successful than those who merely restrict themselves either to recording salient points, or matters of historical importance, or to advocating some political idea.

The longer I live within the walls of Pekin the more am I convinced that, in spite of her decadent condition, she is yet full of vitality and, like Constantinople, embodies a national ideal.

In the afternoon I stroll over to the international area and pay a visit to all the legations.My amiable guide, who was here during the siege, when so many of the defenders perished, can supply information as to many dark episodes of the Boxer rebellion, and shows me where the most serious attacks were made, how they bombarded the legations from the city wall over there, how they used to throw blazing torches on to the roofs of these houses, and how they tried to blow up that quarter.

Looking at the place now, it seems incredible that the garrison—a mere handful—should have been able to withstand the frenzied crowd; but one must not forget that it was a mob, not a disciplined army.

As to the French and English legations, the former was reduced nearly to ruins, while the latter suffered comparatively little damage, but lost more lives.

The so-called European quarter is a large area of about a mile and a half square, lying between the Imperial city and the Tartar wall, and crossed by the Rue des Legations.

I start on my round at the Legation Yamen.In front of the royal palace on the right are the new American barracks, before the gates of which a number of soldiers of every nationality are lounging. Opposite is the International Hospital, a two-storeyed building painted light blue; an uglier erection I have never seen, but I am pleased to find the interior arrangements excellent.

The Dutch and American legations came next, adjoining each other, as do also the Russian and English, but of these only the garden walls are visible.Architecturally the American legation is decidedly unattractive, and therefore it does not matter much that it is hidden from view, but the Russian and English legations are typical Chinese dwellings.The architecture of the latter is interesting, for the house itself belonged to one of the Imperial princes, and was built in a style worthy of his rank.On the opposite bank of the canal the Italian and Japanese concessions form a square.A new wall has been built quite recently, and is fortified at the corner by a turret.The German legation is on the other side of the Rue des Legations.The barracks have just been completed, and if they were built for vindictive reasons, Germany has more than attained her end, so hideous are they.Built in Gothic style, they are the most conspicuous of all, and utterly destroy the harmony of the Oriental forms around them.The Austro-Hungarian legation is still in course of erection, in the style of a villa with porticoes; its chief merit lies in its simplicity, but it would certainly have harmonized better with its surroundings had the architect adhered to the style of the old yamens. Though the walls and slender pillars may appeal to the æsthete, it reminds one of a castle of cards, which will easily collapse in future troubles.

The series of legations is closed by the Belgian.The Russo-Chinese and Shanghai Banks are also in the Rue des Legations, the former supported by Russian, the latter by English capital.Their operations spread far and wide.

Such are the main features of the so-called international territory, that famous and historic spot, the theatre of the recent Chinese troubles.Every inch of it was most gallantly defended by its feeble garrison, day and night, for many months.These heroes were decimated by the bullet, sickness, or famine.

The great distance between Europe and China was probably the reason why the outer world knew so little of the serious nature of the siege, and the isolation of the legations made matters worse.

At the time of my visit it was barely two years since it all happened, but, during that short time, a new city had arisen on the ruins of the European concession.To get a better view I ascend a bastion, and wherever I look busy workmen meet my eyes.The Powers seem to be vying with each other; one patronizes gables, another prefers towers, or adorns its walls with bastions; but all is with the view of overshadowing their neighbours. My eye was at first offended by the artistic shortcomings of these buildings, but now it is their practical defects that are conspicuous. It looks as if the oft-quoted and melancholy chaos which followed the victory of the Powers has found visible expression in this new quarter. There seems to be neither uniformity of plan nor advantage of position.

But this is not the only weak point of the Treaty of Chefoo.Its provisions fixed the war indemnity, established commercial treaties of dubious worth, and made a few concessions valuable only for the moment, and this at a time when the Powers were absolute masters and in a position to dictate reforms, not only of local and temporary importance, but of universal, historical, and moral value.

The Boxer movement of 1900 came as a great surprise, at any rate to the majority of the Powers, and during the outbreak the sole aim of some of the legations seemed to be to secure their own advantage and defeat the aspirations of the rest.This might partly explain how the most guilty persons escaped punishment, and the old state of affairs in China soon returned.

The foreign ministers came back and occupied their new quarters, protected by thicker walls, which the Boxers would have more difficulty in pulling down. I do not know whether I ought to take all I was told about these fortifications seriously, but the garden walls seemed to have been built in the belief that they were indestructible. A few hundred soldiers are kept here by the respective Powers to protect their subjects in case of war. They might suffice in the event of a street riot, but if this nation of four hundred millions should some day determine to act in unison, these walls and the ornamental sentries would, I am afraid, make a very poor defence. In fact, it is hardly to be believed that, if China were once more to attack the European legations, she would employ a mob for the purpose. It is more likely that she will wait until her army is reorganized and armed with modern rifles and Krupp guns.

The new quarter exhibits the same defects as the old.The walls, indeed, are a little higher and the barracks have additional wings, but they remain isolated as before.

It is always a difficult task to throw up defensive works within a city—even the value of the most efficient is questionable; but, if these precautionary measures were absolutely needful, it would certainly have been better to enclose the entire European quarter with a stronger common wall, as is the case with the Imperial city.This would have made it possible for the garrisons of the legations to defend any point attacked conjointly. And it would have had the further advantage that a really pretty, shady town would have been built in the Anglo-Indian style, amongst earthworks planted with trees, instead of a number of insanitary separate walled prisons.

Or would it not have been better to build the European town outside the city gate, between the canal and the railway, where the movement of Pekin is least felt?Neither money nor concessions were wanting, and, both for hygienic and strategical reasons, it would have been far better.The air is purer there, and, in the event of danger, the chances of escape or of obtaining assistance from without are far greater.

The present European quarter in Pekin reminds one of a town which has been rebuilt, after violent earthquakes, on the same spot and in the same way, on that most unsubstantial foundation—chance.

IV
THE TARTAR CITY

The outward appearance of the city, with the exception of the European quarter, is the same as of yore.The ground plan of Pekin is very regular, and is formed of two squares, one the Tartar, the other the Chinese town, each surrounded by a separate wall, with a total number of thirteen gates, with gigantic double-roofed towers.

The centre is occupied by the Imperial city, within which is the Purple or Forbidden City, and inside this we come at last to the Emperor's palaces, private mansions, villas, tea-houses, and temples.The Imperial Palace is itself intersected by gardens, lakes, and streams, and looks more like a city than a palace, nay, like a miniature picture of this whole-walled country.

From the large gate a broad street leads through the Imperial and Tartar towns to the great Southern Gate, one of the strangest thoroughfares in the world.The innermost wall is set in a square of broad moats.Four arched marble bridges lead to the four gates.The jagged wall, the pagoda-like towers of the bastions, the arches of the bridges, all are decorated with finely carved dragons, as rigidly prescribed by law.Walls, moats, towers, and palaces, are repeated in all parts of the gigantic palace; the walls of all buildings being painted red.The shape of the yellow-tiled roofs is that of booths.Everything is planned in accordance with traditions thousands of years old.The threshold must not be larger than that which Confucius crossed, nor must the door be wider than the length of the great teacher's arms.

Every detail of the dwelling, to the minutest ornament, has some symbolic or mythical significance; for instance, at the entrance one never fails to find the wall which tradition demands to protect the peaceful inhabitants from evil spirits, while the ceiling of the house must not be higher than any of the goblins would care to ascend.

In the same way the trimming or embroidery of the dress of an official or courtier has its particular meaning.This likewise applies to private individuals, and the innermost chambers of their homes, simply because it is required by law.

It is this rigid system that makes China appear so uniform, at any rate outwardly.This same system, too, gives her her great interest from a psychological point of view.

There is hardly any nation or people, throughout the whole history of civilization, whose life has been so profoundly and lastingly influenced by doctrine as the population of the Yellow Empire has been by the teachings of Confucius.From the celestial altar (representing the centre of the universe), where only the Son of Heaven may worship his Father, down to each separate temple, yamen, and stone of sacrifice, everything expresses one and the same ethical idea.It is this gigantic moral system, with its organic life penetrating to the minutest detail, that keeps China strong, even in her present decadence, and makes Pekin, even amidst its ruins, one of the greatest cities on earth. It is the plan, or let us say conception, which makes us wonder. The metaphysical qualities of this people fascinate us; their ancient traditions are still their strongholds, and their old systems, however degenerate, the source of moral strength. But I hope to deal more fully elsewhere with the psychological side of China. At present I only want to give a hasty sketch of its capital.

One can scarcely imagine a more systematically laid out city than Pekin.The throne is in the centre; thence radiates every street, thither leads every road.It is the focus of the city, the heart of the empire, but—forbidden ground.The man who sets foot therein forfeits his life, so sacred and inviolable is it.Within the second wall the Imperial Family and the Court reside, precious stones set in gold, as the bards say.

Next comes the so-called Imperial city.The extensive Lotus Lake, the long marble bridge, the Maisan hill, the summer residence of the Dowager Empress, are all contained in that vast area—a number of little towns whose wonders would take whole chapters to describe.Each of them has its own mysterious history.

There was a time when, among the clusters of the lotus, more blood flowed than water.Upon one of the islets stands a summer-house, a very homely building, looking as though its only purpose must be to shelter happiness; but fate made a most gloomy prison of it. There the young Emperor was confined, in anguish, like a criminal, and never knowing whether the morrow would find him alive or lying at the bottom of the lake.

Poor young Emperor!Though he has regained his liberty—if leaving the island for the palace walls can be called freedom—his mind is wrapped in darkness.His youthful dream of making his people happy has vanished for ever.His lofty ideals have crumbled to dust, and of his early counsellors, some are in exile, others in the eternal silence.

The new town residence of the Empress is along the south-eastern wall, and there are other houses enclosed in gardens, all exhibiting the same architectural uniformity—red walls and yellow roofs.The only decoration is the marble staircase with carved dragons.In the adjacent gardens are the quarters of the household staff, and close by the old Foreign Mission and the cathedral.The Mission exchanged those quarters for a fine site farther off, where it is now established.

The Maisan (meaning "mount of coal") is an artificial hill in front of the principal Northern Gate. Its five peaks are adorned with fine summer residences of unequalled beauty, and roofed with enamelled tiles, displaying a number of the porcelain towers so familiar to us from our school-books.

Many versions have come down to posterity as to the origin of the Maisan, but I am inclined to think that originally it was erected for the same purpose as the walls round the gates—that of protection against evil spirits. My assumption is rather confirmed by the fact that in the grove extending along the side of the hill stands the great death-chamber, a hall supported on colossal pillars, wherein is deposited the coffin of a deceased Emperor. The funeral procession passes through the large Northern Gate in front of the graves of the Emperors. In China, where everything has a meaning, it would be fallacious to assume that the Maisan did not symbolize something, and the uncertainty and mystery only enhance the beauty of the evergreen groves of the place. It is like the Roman Testaccian Hill in this respect, the only interesting feature of whose barrenness lies in its mysterious origin.

The fourth wall is that of the Tartar city, which is almost square, and has altogether ten gates—three to the north, three to the south, two to the east, and two to the west.The wall is about seventeen miles long and fifty feet high, and so wide that a dozen soldiers abreast can ride on it comfortably.At its four corners are four three-storeyed bastions with double-gabled, green-tiled roofs. Over the gates are towers with similar roofs, and everywhere the same Imperial emblems, the same dragons and ornamentation. Everything bears the stamp of uniformity, embodying one canon of taste and one idea.

One can hardly imagine a grander and more sombre structure than the symmetrical, harmonious walls of Pekin, and the more we see of them the more we are charmed.

The wall of the Chinese town was added to that of the Tartar city to form a parallelogram; it is similar to the former, though somewhat more modest.To the north the three gates of the Tartar city serve as entrance, while on its eastern and western sides are two gates respectively, and to the south is the principal entrance to Pekin.Then come the moats and ditches and the ubiquitous bridges.So any one desiring to approach the throne must pass altogether through five cities, seven gates, and five bridges, and in the Imperial city one must walk through five halls and five courts ere the throne itself is reached.

The conception of all this is as grand as it is masterly.Nowhere is the idea of majesty enhanced so infinitely, and nowhere is power adorned to such an extent as in China.The Winter Palace and Windsor Castle are merely private dwellings, and even Versailles loses much of its grandeur when compared to the Imperial Palace in Pekin.

It is only a few months since the Court returned from its protracted exile to the deserted palaces; and what a brilliant and magnificent spectacle that grand procession afforded on the long route through five cities and so many gates and bridges!although the uniforms of the soldiers must have looked rather shabby and the coats of the mandarins somewhat worn.The pageant must have been one of the most striking ever seen.

V
THE CHINESE CITY

The skill of the mechanics and industry of the Chinese artisans are proverbial, and it is a never-ending source of interest to watch them, or to study the commercial spirit of the people.I have lately seen a good deal of the commercial life of Pekin, though I am more familiar with that of Niu-chwang.The long rows of caravans, coming from the western frontier and Tibet, and laden with merchandise peculiar to those regions, are characteristic of the former.

The centre of trade is in the Chinese city; but how can I convey an idea of this to those who do not know this people and this part of the world?What a blending of colours!what noise and dust! what an infinity of light and shade! what a wonderful mosaic! Who could ever grasp the total effect in all its splendour? Who could ever understand it in all its mystery?

Every detail is so novel, and everything I see comes as a surprise.During my prolonged stay I go out every afternoon on some extended walk of exploration, and the greatest charm of my wanderings is that I come across famous monuments when I least expect them.I divide the city into different portions, and each day I visit another quincunx.My task is the easier owing to the fact that the town is built on a chess-board plan, like a military encampment.Strictly speaking, it is composed of several towns, each having its own distinct characteristics and purpose, and each a peculiar architecture, while each is inhabited by a different caste.The so-called Tartar city is the home of all the Manchus, who followed the present dynasty from their native land.They are mostly public officials, or enrolled in the Imperial army.

The Inner, or Imperial city, is reserved for mandarins and higher Court dignitaries, and encloses the more restricted area with the three consecutive cities—the Purple, Forbidden, and Sacred.One part of the Purple City is entirely reserved for the Empress Dowager, and the other part contains the abodes of the Court and their guardians.The centre of this marvellous maze is the Emperor's sanctuary.

On the southern side of the Tartar city extends the Chinese city, set apart entirely for commercial purposes, where all the Chinese live, whence its name.All the famous shops are there, and there a bustling trade is carried on from morning till night.

"Are the Pekin sights worth seeing?" is the universal question of new arrivals. It would be easier to give an answer if one were asked, "What is not worth seeing, and what can be omitted in Pekin?" Among my many excursions there was not one devoid of some striking discovery—a fine building, unknown spot, or quaint scene; and even when I did not come across any regular sight, I was always surrounded by a world full of interest, a world by itself.

If I were to give my opinion, I should advise the foreigner, before everything, to examine this quaint world which surrounds him, and to seek to understand its exuberant life; and it would be a great advantage to visit the different parts of the city at different hours of the day, to watch the sun rise from the city walls when the town seems to awake with the sudden burst of light, and to pass the morning hours in the narrow lanes, overcrowded with shops; at midday to pay visits to the official yamens and to local grandees, or to drive in the afternoon to one of the temples, or make an excursion to the neighbouring shrines and watch the sun set from the eastern hills, or the top of the famous pagodas, lost amidst the country.

From an artistic standpoint there are a great many gems to be found, while so far as nature is concerned, the surrounding hills are unsurpassed in their scenery.

The Imperial deer-park is very fine too, and in its quiet melancholy offers a charming haunt for solitary rides.Another place for an outing is the famous Princesses' Tombs, which are worth while visiting in every respect.And there is the charming old Portuguese cemetery, with its sad graves of the first Christians, who played such a leading part at the Emperor's Court in the seventeenth century.The inscriptions on the monuments and white marble crosses are so many records of the first missionaries' work.And farther on is one of Pekin's architectural marvels, the well-known so-called Thirteen-storeyed Pagoda.Its walls are richly carved with uncanny figures, and it is covered with an indescribable roof, looking like thirteen umbrellas put one on top of the other.

There are, moreover, the two Summer Palaces, one of rich French rococo, but now lying in ruins, and the other, which still serves as a summer abode, occupying a vast area, scattered over with many kiosks, tea-houses, and yamens, laid out with marvellous gardens, artificial fishponds, and marble bridges.Unluckily, entrance to it is strictly forbidden, and a trespasser would be punished by decapitation. Until quite recently permission was never accorded to a foreigner to penetrate this forbidden paradise. Now on certain occasions the diplomatic body is received within, and at such a function I was an invited guest; but as I have endeavoured, in another chapter, to give a description, however inadequately, of this wonderland of china pagodas, hanging gardens belonging to the modern Semiramis, and forests planted with miniature orchards and pines, I will not enlarge upon them here. It would indeed be impossible to depict in words what can only be realized by sight. I can only hope that others may have the same privilege.

I would give the same advice with regard to the Imperial Palace in Pekin, which, after all, is the greatest wonder of this wondrous city.

While rambling in Pekin, no one should omit to explore the main thoroughfares of both cities, to visit the side lanes, nor to stop before the great Chinese Gate, or Ta-chin-men, and look straight down and enjoy the marvellous panorama of the Ch'ien-men, or Great Street.Sitting on the marble balustrade of the Ch'ien-men San-tau Bridge, one could spend hours in watching the extraordinary scene.The whole population of this gigantic city seems to assemble here at certain hours of the day.Rich mandarins on horses with elaborate trappings and humble coolies, princes coming from Mongolia, carried in splendid litters, are stopped by the half-naked members of the celebrated Beggars' Guild. There are shops on both sides and booths in front of each shop, displaying more modest wares; and besides this double row of shops, there is a third row of goods for sale; but this department consists merely of mats or sheets of paper spread out in the gutter, where ragamuffins offer the treasure-trove of the preceding night. Behind the Ch'ien-men Street is a maze of alleys, packed with warehouses and richly carved fronts, which form the most marvellous bazaar ever seen. And the effect of this fairyland built of cardboard and tinsel is enhanced by the sun coming through the open spaces in the awnings in shafts of light. Indeed, I would strongly recommend every one to take his first reconnoitring walk through the Ch'ien-men quarter.

As for sights and architectural treasures, there is such an amazing number of them that it is necessary to employ a little discrimination and to put aside the ambition of the average sightseer, which is to say, "I did them all."

Among the temples, the Hall of the Classics, or Pi-yung-kung, also called the Temple of Confucius, which contains the complete text of the nine King or Classical Books, the foundation of ancient Chinese literature, is one of the most remarkable. There are several interesting buildings in its shady grounds, and the entrance arch, covered with beautiful yellow porcelain, is a triumph of Chinese art. Kwo-tsze-chien is another fine pile, and its foundation dates from the time of the Yuan dynasty, which reigned in the thirteenth century. The main hall contains a most interesting wooden tablet, with a characteristic inscription as follows: "The tablet to the soul of the most holy ancestral teacher, Confucius."

The best known and most often described temple is that of the famous Lama monastery, which is a town in itself, composed of many buildings and still owning many art treasures, some very good pieces of cloisonné, and excellent jade work.At certain hours of the day the monks have services with wonderful ritual, and a procession of the Great Lama, clad in royal purple and saffron-yellow, followed by his silk-draped staff, wearing helmets and crests bristling with feathers.It is a spectacle of unquestionable novelty to a European.

Outside the wall one must not omit a visit to Hwang-ssu, where, in the centre court, stands a white marble monument, erected by the Emperor Kien-lung to the memory of the Teshoo Lama, who was the uncle of the one in Lhassa, the Dalai Lama, and who, during a visit to the Imperial city, where he was the guest of the Emperor himself, died suddenly, as the inscription says, of malignant smallpox. Not less famous is the Ta-chung-ssu, or Temple of the Great Bell. It was built in the sixteenth century, and contains the largest bell in the empire, which a century and a half before was cast by order of Yung-Lo.

But among all the temples, as its name indicates, the finest is the so-called Temple of Heaven, where only the Emperor has the right to offer sacrifice.It stands in a grove, occupying over a square mile, in the south-eastern quarter of the Chinese city, and although it consists of but a few buildings only, each is one of the marvels of the East.

The main hall is a rotunda, a kind of pagoda built on top of a platform, which, with its balustrade and the flight of steps skirting it all round, are of finely carved marble.The colonnade, supporting the umbrella-like roof, is of purple lacquered timber, the tiles being of blue porcelain; and I think it is the only building which is permitted to be covered with the colour of the sky.From this unique shrine, across the grass and through the grove, leads a marble pathway to the Imperial altar.

This altar, if so it can be called, is really another platform like the previous one from which we came, but it is even more imposing, higher, and surrounded by more elaborate stairs and finer balustrades. It has no shrine and no pagoda on the top of it; its colonnade is formed by the cedars and cypresses of the grove which surround it, and the dome of this spotless white marble pedestal is the cloudless blue sky.