CHAPTER XXII.

PEKIN--DEPARTURE.

The Marble Bridge--The Tartar City--Objects of Art--Japanese lacquering--Interments--The Observatory--The Imperial Palace --The Temples--The four harvests--Kinds of tea--Departure from Pekin--Tien-tsin--The sea at last.

The following day we went first to pay our respects to Monseigneur de Laplace, the bishop of Pekin, who was then residing at the Mission of the Pères Lazaristes.

To get there we had to go over the marble bridge, which is one of the local wonders. This bridge rises in a saddle-back over a pond, I might say a little lake, and this is surrounded by the gardens of the Imperial palace. Unfortunately, the profusion of aquatic flowers with which this pond is so gay during summer were not yet in bloom, still we could, at least, admire the picturesque view from the marble bridge.

Mounds undoubtedly artificial, but called here by the grand name of mountains, rise in waving outline around this piece of water. They are covered with rare trees, surmounted with kiosks, and those little constructions which we call pagodas. Pavilions are raised on piles above the water. The soil is covered with grass and creeping plants, that stretch along the ground and fall into the lake. The whole is delightfully cool, shady, and attractive, and laid out with unusual refinement of taste.

The Mission of the Lazaristes is built in the middle of this charming spot. All the fathers wear the Chinese costume, and I found it odd to call _Révérends Pères_ these men in _papooches_, and adorned with pigtails as long as those of the Chinese: it is true their tresses are false, or nearly all false, but they would scarcely be supposed to be factitious unless seen very near.

The finest part of Pekin is that surrounding the palace: it is known by the name of the Tartar city. The great merchants and the most famous dealers in curiosities live here, and carry on their business as well.

The houses have simply a ground floor and no other storey; but their façades in the streets are of wood sculptured and gilt. The thickness of the ornamentation is considerable, and the carvings are sunk into it with a delicacy quite Chinese in its way. I do not know what one of these house fronts would be worth in France. Let the reader fancy a whole street lined with such shops glittering with gilding under a brilliant sky, and revealing, tastefully disposed in their interiors, embellished with these rich frames, all the wonders of Asiatic fairy-land.

I am sorry to be obliged here to undeceive, perhaps, my readers with regard to the fine Chinese collections which they imagine they possess at home. I am far from saying there are not in Europe admirable specimens of Chinese art. But, generally, all the articles offered for sale in England and France come from the southern cities, from Canton, Hong Kong, and Shanghai, and consequently are the productions of second-rate makers. Pekin art is almost everywhere still unknown, and it will easily be understood why it should be so, when it is remembered that Europeans are not allowed to carry on business in the capital of the Celestial Empire. Our last expeditions have not procured us any more liberty in this respect. The specimens of the art of Pekin are, therefore, almost exclusively bought by tourists on their visits, who do not dispose of them by way of trade. There may be seen in France, it is true, enamels in cloisonné work, but they give no idea of the marvels of the kind of work tourists may admire in the temple of Pekin. But there are entire panels much less known, representing landscapes, produced by the application of lacquer to porcelain; screens, wherein dyed ivory is applied to open-carved woodwork; or lacquered folding screens with ornamentation produced by the coloured transparent stones of Mongolia. The latter kind of work presents objects of incomparable beauty, and one is never tired of admiring them. There are also vases in uniform enamel, generally blue with designs in white, level with the surface, having a most graceful effect. This kind of vase is not rare at Pekin, and yet very little known in Europe.

Whilst I am describing the art of the extreme East, I should like to enlighten the reader a little on Japanese lacquers, though I intend drawing my notes of travel to a close at Tien-tsin, and to say nothing of those Japan islands--a sojourn dear as a souvenir of pleasure and joy. All the productions to which we in France give this pompous title of _laque au Japon_, consist merely of surfaces of varnished wood. In the true lacquer, on the contrary, the drawings in bold relief are composed of pure gold, and the ground-work is covered with adventurine reduced to a powder before application. Objects in true lacquer command therefore, in Japan, exorbitant prices.

I one day asked at Yeddo the price of a cabinet resembling pretty much those that are become now so common in France, and are generally sold with us for two or three hundred francs. The dealer demanded twenty-five thousand francs for it. A little square box of about four inches each way, of genuine lacquer, is worth, in Japan, from eight hundred to one thousand francs. I shall not enter into the subject of Chinese porcelain, because this alone would form matter for a volume: besides, I did not remain long enough at Pekin to become well acquainted with this delicate department of Chinese art, more difficult to master. I will simply mention two kinds of vases in porcelain which appeared to me much esteemed. The one sort is ornamented with large Chinese figures, having in the middle a medallion representing some scene in character with the surroundings. The other is covered with designs in bold relief, also of porcelain, and coloured. These two kinds of vases, it seems, originated three or four hundred years ago, and are worth generally from four to seven hundred francs. What are known also as pretty little thin cloisonné enamels, date also from about the same epoch, and fetch considerable prices in China. These cloisonné enamels are rather rare in Europe. They may be recognised by their designs being more sunk and less regular than in those relatively modern, and especially by certain parts of them, where the transparency of the enamel permits the copper on which it is laid to be seen beneath.

As I have just mentioned, the streets of the Tartar quarter are lined with shops, exposing in their fronts the beautiful articles just described. In the roadway the throng of people is even greater than in the villages I had passed through.

The crowds of people on foot are obliged to stand aside constantly to make way for the palanquins of the grandees, borne by men; the two-wheeled carriages of the mandarins, who may be seen through the black or green _persiennes_, wrapped in their long robes of embroidered silk; the horses, the camels, the travelling palanquins with mules, then the marriage and funeral processions. The latter occupy a considerable space, and stretch over five hundred or a thousand yards, according to the dignity of the deceased. The poor carry in the line of procession parasols, poles surmounted with hands in gilt wood, and all kinds of amulets. Then follow the objects that belonged to the defunct; his horse, his carriage, in which is generally set up an effigy in wax representing his features, and if a mandarin, wearing his court costume. At last is seen the coffin, made of oak about two and a half inches thick, and placed on a catafalque. The great bier is borne by at least forty or sixty men. The relatives dressed in white, the mark of mourning, precede the coffin, throwing flowers in the way, burning incense, and going through a ceremony of respect to the dead every eighty or hundred steps. For this demonstration the procession comes to a halt. They spread on the ground a white cloth, and the mourners, prostrating themselves entirely face downwards, strike their foreheads, on the ground. This part of the ceremony finished, they get up and the procession proceeds, with these interludes, to some land belonging to the deceased, where the coffin is deposited on the ground in the open air and left there without burial. When the coffin decays they form a tumulus of earth around it, but it is never put into a grave. The spot remains ever afterwards sacred, and can be used no more for cultivation.

It may be imagined what an immense extent of valuable land the Chinese lose through this custom. It is known what many quarrels it also leads to in the towns along the coast inhabited by Europeans: the subject has been too often discussed to make it worth while to say anything about it here.

Among the great concourse of people in the Tartar city may be seen a multitude of conjurers exercising their wonderful feats in the open air.

Their dexterity is surprising; for they execute their tricks among the spectators without the convenient aid of tables and boxes with false bottoms, which are such valuable adjuncts in theatres. Some of them perform even dangerous feats: they leap head-foremost through a cylinder placed horizontally, bristling with nails and pointed blades. I should never come to an end if I were to describe everything that obtrudes itself on the sight in these wide streets of the Tartar city. Nowhere else can be seen such a varied and picturesque kaleidoscope as here meets the astonished eye.

Unfortunately, side by side with these marvels, one turns with disgust from other sights repulsive to European civilization. All along the streets vast holes are sunk for a purpose it would be embarrassing to explain. There is no city in the world so noisome, and I can easily understand why the _personnel_ of the legations prefer remaining shut up four and five months at a time in their fine residences and grounds, to seeking any recreation in such a polluted atmosphere.

We visited the observatory, constructed by the Chinese under the direction of the Jesuits. The scientific instruments to be seen there are admirable. They are made of bronze, supported on feet of the same metal, in which all the fancies of Chinese art have been lavished. The contortions of these mountings, composed of dragons and grotesque monsters, produce a striking contrast to the regular forms of the spheres, the parallel lines and astronomical figures which they sustain at a great height in the air.

I have seen at Pekin, in the temples of the Mongolian lamas, or of the priests of Buddha, splendid enamels and objects of great value; but I have never found in China, nor even in Japan, where bronze is, certainly, turned to better account than in the Celestial Empire, anything so artistic, in the strict meaning of the term, as the apparatus of this observatory. The taste of the Chinese it must be admitted is very questionable. One may admire, especially, the colours of their porcelain, the soft hues of their ancient enamels, and the harmony of the tints in their embroidered stuffs; but in their designs, in the forms of their objects and personages, many faults and even repulsive monstrosities may be noticed. But the instruments of the Pekin Observatory are, in my opinion, above all criticism. Fancifulness certainly abounds therein, but it is only within just bounds: the supports I have just mentioned are so slender, so delicately worked, that they seem quite foreign and distinct from the spheres they sustain, and these indeed produce the illusion of being maintained by their proper force like real celestial worlds.

Before quitting this spot I took from the top a panoramic view of this immense capital, and the prospect extended over a considerable distance. The golden roofs of the merchants’ houses of the Tartar city were glittering with splendour in the sun; then I remarked the not less brilliant green porcelain roofs of the fortresses rising above the chief gates, the blue porcelain roofs of the pagodas, of the Temple of Heaven, and of the Temple of Agriculture, and then, particularly, the Imperial palace, covered with yellow porcelain.

The Imperial palace of China is the abode of mystery; a mystery no one can boast of having penetrated. It is a little spot, unknown and deserted, amid these teeming millions of human beings--a recess into which no European has ever entered, and wherein only a very limited number of Chinese can penetrate once in the twenty-four hours, and then only in the darkest hours of the night.

The audience which the Emperor gave a few years ago to the European ministers, and which made a considerable sensation, did not take place even in the palace. The Son of Heaven did not deign to show himself here to the ministers but in a pavilion so far removed from the mysterious palace that it is plainly visible from the marble bridge.

Many reports have circulated in Europe regarding the private life of the Emperors of China, and the internal regulations of the palace. M. Berthémy, the French minister in Japan, whom I had the honour to meet at Yokohama, and who had previously been in China for many years, said: “All that has been retailed about the interior of the Imperial palace of Pekin can only be a mere fable, for it is impossible for anyone to know anything about it. The only thing that seems to me likely, because it has been declared to me by all the mandarins, is that the Emperor is subjected to a severe etiquette, and that he would be immediately assassinated by his own guards if he attempted to set it aside.”

The sight of the yellow roofs of this palace produced on me a deep impression, and on reposing at my ease at the Embassy I compared in my mind the existence of this poor Emperor, a slave to etiquette, to our good king Saint Louis showing himself to his people and administering justice under an oak in the Bois de Vincennes. How many unhappy there are in this world in all the scales of the social hierarchy!

I shall say little of the Temple of Heaven, and of the Temple of Agriculture, because they are not interesting. The first especially is unworthy of the exalted name it bears. It is in an immense park surrounded with walls, in which chapels and pretty pavilions, covered with blue porcelain, are distributed, and where a subdued light penetrates through blinds composed of little tubes of blue glass placed parallel. A platform of white marble is raised in the middle of the park, and it is here the Emperor occasionally comes to offer with his own hand sacrifices to the Divinity.

The curious portion of the Temple of Agriculture and its precincts is a field where, every year, on a certain day, the Emperor, holding in his hand a plough, makes a furrow along the ground, as if to give an example to his subjects. The remainder of the field is afterwards ploughed by the mandarins. This ceremony shows how much agriculture, the principal source of the wealth of the country, is honoured in China. With their two annual harvests of corn, the Chinese succeed in providing bread at a moderate price, and by exporting their tea and their rice they draw gold into their country from all parts of the world. Their method of cultivation very much resembles the Egyptian system. They divide their fields into little squares, around which water is conducted for irrigation to all parts. This water flows from numerous canals winding through the country, and is supplied by contrivances worked by Chinese labourers like the Egyptian _shadoufs_. For the cultivation of rice the little squares are surrounded with an embankment high enough to maintain over the field a sheet of water several inches deep. The land thus disappears completely. When I visited the rice fields in the month of May, the seed, lately sown, hardly sprouted above the surface of the water.

The tea is a little shrub, a foot and a half to two feet high. The leaves are gathered from May to August, according to the species, and also according to the quality required. There are in China growths of tea as there are in France growths of wine. The nature of the soil and the different kinds of plants produce the varieties known to the trade. The most esteemed kind is known by the name of yellow tea. It is the ordinary drink of the Emperor of China and the Emperor of Russia.

This tea is so valuable, that in Siberia, in certain even rich families, I have sometimes seen one cup of it only made in my honour, whilst my hosts deprived themselves of it by reason of economy. It would not be interesting here to enumerate the different growths, because they are not known by their original names. The various kinds are named in France according to the mode of gathering: thus pearl tea is from small leaves gathered at the beginning of spring, soon after their formation. The _thé à pointes blanches_ is made of a mixture of leaves and flowers. The white points are merely the dried flowers of the shrub; this is the reason this kind is the strongest. One of the commonest kinds is the brick tea, which I have already mentioned as serving for money in Mongolia; and finally the commonest tea, which through some preparation I am ignorant of presents an odd appearance. It has also the form of a brick, but it is quite black, and neither a stalk nor a leaf can be seen in it, as in the other bricks. On looking at it, it might be supposed to be a block of coal or peat. This tea is sold for a mere trifle, and is a great resource for the poor of Siberia as well as China.

The intelligence and skilfulness of the Chinese are everywhere apparent, and they know how to turn these advantages to account in everything. They have also brought to great perfection the art of sail-making. I am not acquainted with all the systems adopted in France, but in mentioning the lateen sail (_la voile latine_), which bears the name of our race, I mention, I believe, one of the inventions of Europe. But this lateen sail in swelling out excessively under the action of the wind does not at the same time utilize all the force this moving power is capable of imparting. Besides, in squalls, the handling consists in slackening the rope that ties it below. The canvas flapping then at the top of the mast imparts a pitching or tossing to the boat that may be very dangerous. This method of sailing is, therefore, imperfect. The Chinese sail is, on the contrary, held in by a series of parallel bars, and thus constantly opposes an even surface to the play of the wind. Then, with the aid of a pulley at the top of the mast, it can be lowered to any degree. In this way the Chinese may, in the most violent squalls, still have a sail spread that offers little, much above the deck, for the storm to grapple with, consequently exposing in no way the ship to danger.

I might quote many examples of this ingenious and practical mind; and in travelling through China I have conceived the highest opinion of the intelligence, the cleverness, and the perseverance of the Chinese. There is only one thing wanting to these people: a government that will let them know there are other nations in the world besides the Chinese; that these nations have also a civilization, from which it would be judicious and especially profitable to borrow certain inventions. But the day will come, and perhaps it is not afar, when the Chinese will immigrate into Europe, as they already immigrate into Japan, California, and Peru; they will form at Marseilles, Paris, and London more important quarters than the depôts of Shanghai, Macao, and Saigon, and foreign commerce will take an expansion unknown with this nation.

The majority of the French people believe the intelligence of the Japanese is very superior to that of the Chinese. It is a serious mistake. The Japanese resemble us very much in their character, and that is the reason this people pleases travellers. They are gay, enterprising, boastful, disputative, and a little revolutionary. There is in Japan an actual pretender, and consequently among the Japanese partisans of such and such a family, and, perhaps, even republicans more or less democratic or socialistic. The French, therefore, like the Japanese, and on the other hand the Japanese admire the French. They create a little army in which they adopt our costumes; nothing is more singular than to see a _chasseur de Vincennes_ mounting guard in the streets of Yeddo. They construct little railways, little telegraphs; but in the end these things are not serious, because in the first place there is not, nor can be, anything serious in these people; these applications of our inventions are insignificant because they are confined to a little tongue of land very narrow along the sea, beyond which it is impossible for Europeans to penetrate. The interior of Japan is absolutely closed to us, whilst we are perfectly free to travel from one end of China to the other. It is, therefore, I consider, quite an error to suppose that Japan is marching towards civilization. The existing transformations are limited to a very minute portion of the territory, and consequently have no significance.

The Chinese government does not permit to its people either telegraphs or railways, or anything that is European; but the day when the Chinese, through some much desired revolution, will have obtained these concessions from its government, it will not only apply our inventions with judgment but will perfect them, and perhaps we shall be astonished one fine day to learn from the Chinese the means of uniting on railways the highest speed with the greatest security. To impose on the Chinese a new form of government, or on the existing government a new constitution, is what our last expedition there should have taken in hand, instead of destroying the Summer Palace, a piece of work repugnant to my feelings to dwell on.

A little lake, surrounded entirely with marble galleries and covered with miniature islands, in the middle of which are displayed the most charming pavilions in the world; a large range of steps in porcelain, rising to the top of the hill of Wan-tcho-chan, and two little temples in porcelain,--these are the remains of the marvels that once astonished the wondering sight in this palace and surrounding park.

I took leave of my kind hosts at the Legation of Pekin, whose hospitality and attentions I shall never forget, on the 18th of May, and went to Tien-tsin by the course of the Peiho.

M. Rystel, then at the Consulate of Tien-tsin, entertained us very agreeably the time we were obliged to wait for a boat, and at last, on the 24th of May, I embarked for Shanghai with my three young companions already mentioned. I could not make up my mind to leave Pablo at Tien-tsin, and I, therefore, took him with me. The poor fellow was so faithful and devoted, and never ceased expatiating with tears in his eyes on the _far niente_ life he had enjoyed, with so much good living, at the Embassy of Pekin. On going to sea at the mouth of the Peiho I was overcome with rapture. For this great sea is all one, and, in washing the shores of every land it touches, it brought me nearer to my native land; its waves caressed as lovingly the beaches of Trouville and Biarritz as the cliffs of the gulf of Pei-Chi-Li.

My fatiguing travels over the Siberian steppes and the Desert of Gobi were decidedly at an end, and I now had before me the prospect of my friends and my home.

My readers, perhaps, will wonder what could have induced me to have undertaken so wearisome a journey: I had imagined the bright side of it only then, but now I have seen the other I can advise them not to follow my example; for though there are many novel, grand, and striking scenes of nature, accompanied with much exciting adventure, still they are not to be enjoyed in so rigorous a climate as that of Siberia in Winter without incurring much hardship, and even a certain exposure to a considerable share of danger.

NOTES.

NOTE 1, CHAP. II., PAGE 22.

Whenever the degree of temperature is mentioned in the course of this narrative, it is according to the _Centigrade scale_, although it is calculated by the Réaumur thermometer, and no other, in Russia. 5° Centigrade are equal to 9° Fahrenheit: but since the freezing point in the Centigrade thermometer is 0, and in the Fahrenheit 32°, in converting one scale into the other, care must be taken to add or deduct this difference in calculating above or below freezing point. It will therefore be seen that when 18° below 0 in the Centigrade scale are reached--a point nearly equivalent to zero in the Fahrenheit thermometer--the latter is quite inadequate to indicate the intense cold of Siberia, where, in certain parts, as at Yakutsk and Tomsk, it is said to reach 58° Centigrade even, in some winters. This temperature would be equivalent to 105° Fahrenheit below freezing point, disregarding the irrational descending scale below this mark, and supposing the graduation to continue instead from freezing point with augmenting numbers. But Gabriel Fahrenheit contrived his thermometer for Dantzig, and evidently not for Siberia; for the lowest point, zero, has no scientific basis, no significance whatever in the phenomena of heat, and represents merely the extreme cold registered at Dantzig in 1709, a degree of cold which must have been surpassed there subsequently by many degrees, and even in Paris by at least 15°, once in the winter of 1871 during the siege, and more than once during the rigorous winter of 1880. We seem to be more attached to this Dantzig thermometer than the Dantzigians themselves, who, probably, have long ago adopted the more rational scale of Réaumur or of Celsius, more rational at least so far as they are graduated each way from freezing point. Perhaps a change may come about when we begin to dine at 18 o’clock instead of 6 p.m.--W. C.

NOTE 2, CHAP. VII., PAGE 127.

Siberia, it appears, judging from an account of a correspondent of the _Times_ at Tumen, published November 20th, 1883, is quite _un pays de cocagne_, so far as provisions are concerned, sparkling champagne of course excepted. The prices of some articles of food at Tumen are given as follows:

“Geese in autumn cost fivepence a pair, and are frozen in numbers to be sent west to Russia and east to Irkutsk; grouse in summer, being a delicacy, cost threepence a pair, and good fish, such as sterlet and nelma, from three-halfpence to twopence-halfpenny per pound. Sheep are scarce and not much eaten, but beef in autumn costs from fifteen to twenty pence the pood, or about a halfpenny per pound.”

In spite of the cheapness of provisions and labour, travelling appears to be, at least to the foreigner, very expensive in Siberia.--W. C.

NOTE 3, CHAP. IX., PAGE 165.

Some interesting experiments on seeds and plants have recently been made by a Norwegian _savant_, Professor Schubeler, with the view of demonstrating the beneficial influence of prolonged sunlight on vegetation during the long summer days of the north. Some of these experiments were as follows: dwarf beans taken from Christiania to Drontheim, being less than 4° further north, gained more than 60 per cent. in weight; thyme brought from Lyons and planted at Drontheim gained 71 per cent. It appears that the grain grown in northern latitudes is much heavier than that grown in more southern lands: on the other hand, seed taken from Norway and sown at Bresslau greatly diminished in weight the first year. As the differences of soil, moisture, temperature of the ground and air, and other disturbing elements have to be duly accounted for, these experiments do not appear to be sufficient to establish the fact that the increase of weight was _wholly_ due to increased sunlight. Perhaps experiments for comparative results will be made under similar conditions, except those of the duration and quantity of sunlight, and such experiments, more in accordance with the principles of experimental science, would, if made, be more satisfactory.--W. C.

NOTE 4, CHAP. XI., PAGE 188.

It does not appear, however, that wolves are always so peaceful and harmless. From a police report it seems that, in 1875, 161 persons, and domestic animals to the value of £2,500,000, were killed by wolves in European Russia: their depredations in Siberia could not probably be easily calculated. In 1882 it is reported that 278 human beings were killed by wolves in British India.--W. C.

NOTE 5, CHAP. XII., PAGE 213.

The following are a few clauses from the Russian penal code that came into operation on the 1st of May, 1846, and will show how far religious intolerance is carried in Russia. Certain clauses relating to corporal punishments, the abrogation of privileges, and the right of suzerainty are omitted, because the decree emancipating the serfs renders them null and void.

“Sec. 196.--He who abandons the orthodox faith for any other creed, Christian even, is to be handed over to the ecclesiastical authorities, in order to be admonished and enlightened, and that his case may be judged according to the rules of the Church. Until he returns to the orthodox faith, the Government _takes steps_ to preserve his children, under age, from corruption: a guardian is placed over his estates, and _he is forbidden to reside there_.”

“Sec. 197.--He who shall attempt, either by word of mouth or writing, to draw orthodox believers into another creed, shall be condemned:

“For the first offence, to be imprisoned for one year or two years in a house of correction; for the second, to be incarcerated in a fortress for a period of four to six years; for the third, to be sent into exile in the government of Tobolsk or Tomsk, with imprisonment for one or two years.”

“Sec. 198.--If the parents, who are legally obliged to bring up their children in the orthodox faith, shall bring them up according to the practices of some other creed, Christian even, they shall be condemned to imprisonment for one or two years; their children shall be entrusted to parents of the orthodox faith for their education, or in default of such persons, to guardians nominated by the Government.”

“Sec. 199.--He who shall hinder anyone from following the orthodox faith shall be condemned to be imprisoned for three to six months: and if he shall have used threats or violence or practised annoyance, he shall be confined for two or three years in a house of correction.”

“Sec. 200.--He who is well aware that his wife or his children, or any persons legally under his _surveillance_, intend to abandon the orthodox creed, and does not attempt to dissuade them from it, or take such measures as are authorised by the law to prevent them from doing so, shall be liable to an imprisonment of three days to three months; and if he is orthodox, he shall be subject to ecclesiastical punishment.”

This law therefore obliges a man, _even if he is a Roman Catholic_, to denounce his wife and children of the orthodox faith and act with rigour against them.

“Sec. 202.--Members of the clergy of the Christian sects, convicted of having taught the Catechism to orthodox children, _although it should not be proved_ that they intended to beguile them, will be liable: for the first offence, to be removed from their spiritual charge for one to three years; for the second, to forfeit entirely their charge, and, after having been imprisoned for one to two years, to be placed continually under the _surveillance_ of the police.”

With regard to the grave question of mixed marriages, the tenth book of the laws, among other vexatious regulations, stipulates that: “If one of the two contracting parties is orthodox, the priest can only give his benediction to the marriage when he shall have obtained from the heterodox party a formal engagement in writing, that he or she shall not attempt to gain over the other to his or her religion by allurements, threats, or other means, and that _all their children shall be brought up in the orthodox faith_.”

Marriages between members of the Catholic and of the Orthodox faith, celebrated only in a Catholic church, are declared null and void.

NOTE 6, CHAP. XIII., PAGE 225.

The exiled Poles, at present even, can only carry offensive weapons with the permission of the military governor.

NOTE 7, CHAP. XIII., PAGE 226.

In Siberia, poor people, who travel enormous distances afoot, in order to pray at a tomb or the image of a saint, are often met with. It is not a rare occurrence for peasants to attempt to undertake a journey thus as far as Jerusalem. There are many, indeed, that abandon their project on the way from sheer fatigue, but not from want of courage. A few are sometimes known to accomplish even this formidable undertaking.

NOTE 8, CHAP. XIII., PAGE 229.

Many Siberian animals that are white during winter, resume, in the summer, furs of a colour which we habitually see here. The ermine is a changeable fur, and becomes yellow during the warm season. A summer ermine is almost worthless in the eyes of a connoisseur.--_The Author._

These, no doubt, are instances of the _protective colours_ observed by Darwin and Mr. Wallace.

“A common Indian and Sumatran butterfly (_Kallima_) disappears like magic when it settles in a bush; for it hides its head and antennæ between its closed wings, and these in form, _colour_, and veining, _cannot be distinguished from a withered leaf_ together with the footstalk.”--_Wallace._

“With animals of all kinds, whenever colour has been modified _for some special purpose_, this has been, as far as we can judge, either _for protection_ or as an attraction between the sexes.”--_Darwin_, _Descent of Man_.

The white furs of the animals, liable to become the prey of others amid the snow, are obviously a protection from observation; and likewise in summer, some other colour presenting a diminished contrast with surrounding nature, would have the same effect.

Perhaps this adaptation of colour to surroundings may extend also to certain animals, which would otherwise become extinct if they did not enjoy the facilities it conferred in the capture of their prey when they are placed at a great disadvantage. The Polar bear, for instance, requires no protection from its enemies, but favourable conditions, probably, for approaching its prey unobserved. It seems reasonable to conclude that animals of either class favoured with a colour that enables them either to escape from their pursuers, or, on the other hand, to approach their prey, have, in the struggle for life, the best chance of a prolonged existence, and consequently of leaving the most numerous offspring to perpetuate the race. Though colour is one of the most varying features of animals, it is, whether changing or permanent, beginning to be recognised no longer as capricious or accidental, as we have hitherto usually regarded it, but as the consequence of the survival of the most highly favoured in an endowment conducive to the preservation of the species, a discovery on which the continued observations of naturalists are ever throwing fresh light.--W. C.

NOTE 9, CHAP. XIII., PAGE 231.

This is a small fruit resembling that of the dog rose. A beverage is made from it by infusing the berries for a fortnight in some brandy with sugar, which is not disagreeable to the palate.

NOTE 10, CHAP. XIII., PAGE 240.

In England, in the time of Henry VIII., Sable was probably adopted by wealthy people as a distinctive mark of their social position; otherwise, why should it have become an object of legislation and have been prohibited by the Statute of Apparel (24 Hen. VIII.) to be worn by any under the degree of an earl?

It will, no doubt, be seen from this diverse and often singularly-extravagant appreciation of furs in Russia--and occasionally not so much for their beauty and elegance as for their rarity and great money value--that it is the lucky possessors who are admired and envied in these luxuries, because they are the means of proclaiming and parading so effectively their opulence; and the vain, exulting in this special homage to their exaggerated self-importance, cheerfully buy the gratification at their own appraisement, and thereby give to these furs an exorbitant value.

It might be contended that a single caprice of this nature is insufficient to prove the existence of a passion for the display of wealth, and that such instances must necessarily be rare because the furs are rare.

But it has significance enough to deduce from it its pervading character. The vain, it is true, can be vain only of what they possess; but to suppose these to have undivided possession of the folly, as well as exclusive enjoyment of the highly-prized furs, would be to take no account of the admiring multitude and the envious, without whom the vanity of others would clearly have no _raison d’être_--no visible existence; for the price of these special badges or symbols, these admirers, the public in fact, so materially sustain, is precisely the measure of the public estimation.

It seems therefore reasonable to infer that the sentiment is general.

Then when a caprice becomes _à la mode_--“the proper thing to do”--a powerful fresh stimulus is added to the folly, and the feverish desire “to be in the fashion” may develop the passion into a mania, whether its special objects be badges of wealth, bibelots, tulips, or bric-à-brac, and

“Thus does a false ambition rule us, Thus pomp delude and folly fool us.”

But a desire to fall in with the fashion would alone be insufficient to explain the extraordinary price of blue fox feet fur; for a fashion to become a rage must first take the form of an epidemic--a condition rigorously excluded by the very restricted number of possible possessors of the coveted object. And so far as beauty is concerned, however beautiful this fur may be, its beauty would still far less account for the price. That the Russians consider it beautiful, is likely enough, for beauty to most people is purely conventional, and much more readily perceived through the ears than the eyes. Few, perhaps, would contend that the beauty of pearls and diamonds is at all commensurate with their price, and yet those who recognise the exaggeration, might not readily perceive that nearly all their value is derived from the esteem they command as badges or insignia of wealth and competence. If beauty has no objective existence--and there is no evidence that it has any other than as a sentiment or idea--it can have no money value at all in a beautiful object, simply because it is not there, but in the brain of the beholder; and this would, perhaps, explain why so many seem insensible to its influence, and again, why it appeared to Goethe to elude the grasp of definition. How often we vainly imagine we secure it in acquiring some charming _tableau de genre_ or bit of old china, some rare gem or inimitable enamel, and, at the end of a few months’ familiarity with it, are disappointed at finding that it no longer rouses the enthusiasm we felt on first beholding its wondrous beauty! And yet, ever fondly clinging to the illusion that it is an intrinsic part of the object, we continue the pursuit like the chase of the beautiful blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, described in _The Giaour_, and not rarely find at last that--

“The lovely toy so fiercely sought, Hath lost its charm by being caught.”

But it exists only in the mind, which feels no satisfaction in the constant indulgence of a single emotion, and it may, as in pearls and diamonds, be enjoyed for itself alone, without material possession, as gratuitously as the surpassing beauty of a splendid sunset. Nor would, perhaps, the exigencies of fashion--which may be fully met by imitations so deceptive as to elude ordinary detection--raise the price of the real much beyond the fictitious gem, unless the fashionable were as scrupulous as ladies were in the reign of Elizabeth, who, according to Fuller, “would have as patiently digested a lie, as the wearing of false stones or pendants of counterfeit pearl.”

But regarded as insignia of wealth, possession is a _sine quâ non_, and the extravagant price is essential to its object, and the more extravagant it is, the higher the gratification to be derived from it, because this implies increased distinction--the consequence of fewer enjoying a superfluity of wealth. The desire also to acquire a beautiful article of exaggerated value is independent of an appreciation of beauty _per se_, and is principally a purely factitious desire, varying for no better reason than because other people in general by a tacit consensus think more or less of it; and if society should _agree to think_ any object, whether beautiful or not, a convenient vehicle to attract attention to any quality it values, such as wealth, refinement, _haut ton_, elegance, or culture, a _new value_ is immediately given to such object, which the rage to acquire may exaggerate to outrageous extravagance. If, for instance, diamonds and pearls had not been taken into favour by princes, from time immemorial all the world over, they might not now, perhaps, have a much higher value than Brighton pebbles or Whitby jet. And if blue fox feet fur had not been adopted by the Muscovite grandees, it might have no higher value than grey fox or squirrel. But it is plainly envy and admiration of riches that the Russian grandees buy, and when they have a relish for the luxury they pay for it as munificently as Lucullus paid for a magnificent supper, who probably thought as little of the epicurean gratification to be got out of a dish of peacock’s brains, as these nabobs think of the comfort or elegance to be got out of a cloak of blue fox feet, the sentimental value of which they estimate at the rate of sixteen hundred pounds sterling!--W. C.

NOTE 11, CHAP. XV., PAGE 278.

The author of “Chto dyelat” was Tschernishevsky, who wrote it in the Petro-Paolovsky fortress at St. Petersburg. He had written also several romances during his imprisonment, all of which he had burnt with his own hand. According to his own statement, it does not appear that he was imprisoned on account of anything he had written. In the month of December, 1883, he was living as a free convict under surveillance at Astrachan, and on the 11th of this month, had completed his long term of nearly twenty years of banishment. He gave the following account of his treatment as a prisoner to a correspondent of the _Daily News_, whose interesting letter regarding him was published in that journal, December 22nd, 1883.

“I was always treated by the agents of the Government as respectfully as any man could desire. My treatment was not that of a convict, but, throughout, that of a prisoner of war. The hard labour, of which I have spoken, was for me, as well as for many of the Russian and Polish political exiles, among whom my lot was cast, a name only--it existed on paper, but had no reality.”--W. C.

NOTE 12, CHAP. XVI., PAGE 287.

The reader perhaps may not know why, in mentioning the names of certain persons, their family names are preceded by two baptismal names. It is because in Russia courtesy demands that, in addressing anyone, you should add the baptismal name of his father, to which is affixed the termination _ovitch_. Thus Iwan Michäelovitch Nemptchinof means Iwan the son of Michael Nemptchinof. This double appellation, not merely polite, but indeed the most respectful of all, especially when the family name is not added, is so rigorously exacted by usage, that the Emperor, in the public acts, is designated Alexander Nicolaevitch. It is one of the grossest insults to address anyone by his sole baptismal name as we are accustomed to do in our intimacies: it seems that in omitting the name of the father in addressing a Russian you would insinuate that he was obscure and unknown and of illegitimate birth.

NOTE 13, CHAP. XVI., PAGE 301.

The same fact has been remarked by Blanchard (_Animaux articulés_, Paris, 1846), and by Lacordaire (_Introduction à l’entomologie_, tome III, page 383).

NOTE 14, CHAP. XIX., PAGE 347.

The Desert of Gobi properly so called is a little less in extent than the Sahara; it must not be forgotten, however, that the countries bordering it, especially on the west, are actual deserts.

NOTE 15, CHAP. XIX., PAGE 350.

The depressing effect on the mind of the traveller, produced by the aspect of monotonous scenery, has been noticed by M. Gabriel Charmes, in an excursion in the Auvergne (_Journal des Débats_, July, 1881), who attributes the habitual lowness of spirits of the peasantry to the cheerless uniformity of certain parts of the Cantal, amid which they dwell. As some of these are said to become sorcerers from the prolonged effect, may not the gloomy character of the Mongolian religion be largely attributable to the dismal baldness of their desert? M. Gabriel Charmes thus describes the mountains of the Cantal and their influence on the mind of the spectator: “I have referred to those great, sterile, melancholy table-lands, that are everywhere met with in the Cantal and the mountainous district of the Puy-de-Dôme. In the spring even, when the long grass is mingled with an abundance of flowers, it is almost impossible to traverse them, and quite impossible to dwell there, without feeling some vague, unaccountable weight or oppression on the spirits, similar to that experienced by those who live on the sea-shore, in sight of the incessant monotony of the waves. The clouds depict on them great dark shadows, which, driven on by a brisk wind, flit past like gigantic phantoms. This perpetual play of shadows and light is the only diversity that arrests the eye in the interminable uniformity. They, therefore, who frequent them a long while, acquire, in course of time, strange habits of mind. It is a very widely spread opinion among the peasantry of the Auvergne, that the cow-herds, who pass most of the year on the lonely hills, actually become wizards. The special fixedness, perhaps, which the contemplation of an unvarying nature stamps on their sight, is the cause of this prejudice.... The mind contracts there a kind of natural melancholy, and this seems to dispose it to sadness rather than joyousness.” It is not probable that the monotony of the waves produces the same effect, for here we have movement, with which the mind sympathises, and, being thus relieved, does not readily become a prey to melancholy. The sea is very different from the motionless, unchanging desert.--W. C.

_Notes bearing no initials at the end are taken from the Original Edition._

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Limited, London and Aylesbury.

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Transcriber’s note:

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unpaired quotation marks were retained.

“To face page” information has been removed from the captions of the illustrations.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Page 314: “vent à terre” probably should be “ventre”.

Page 399: “adventurine” probably is a misprint for “aventurine”.