Sunday Peking [Beijing]. Dearest Father - to continue my unfinished letter. We had a very long day on Wednesday. We started at 6 and rode by an enchanting path under the hills to the Ming Tombs. The bare brown hills were fringed with peach trees in flower and our path bordered with purple anemone - that big hairy anemone we found in the Fontainebleau woods, do you remember? - clumps of violets and pale blue iris. Also a most delicious little shrub, some sort of a fruit bearing thing, with pinkish white blossom, all along its branches - or trunks, for it was only 2 foot high. We turned a shoulder of the hills and found ourselves in an immense amphitheatre some 3 miles across, the mountains rising steeply round it and the tombs set back into them, yellow gables in clumps of pine trees. A fine and private place it is to be buried in. In the old days the amphitheatre was quite uncultivated and no one entered the valley except for the funeral of an Emperor. Now it is full of peach trees, flowering when we saw them, but on the bare ground between nothing was growing but wild flowers. We rode along the great paved causeway, past broken bridges over waterless torrent beds, and so came to the biggest of all the tombs, that of the Emperor Yung Lo. A very splendid place, walled round, with many courts and pavilions, the great hall magnificent - all wood, with immense beams painted blue and green and huge camphor wood columns, but all neglected, dusty, the yellow imperial tiles falling from the eaves, violets and trailing creepers pushing up between the carved slabs of the marble staircases. We had come into the amphitheatre by a side door, so to speak, we left it by the state entrance. Two miles from Yung Lo's tomb the paved road leads to a series of gates and arches and between them the famous long row of carved stone animals, over life size, but too comic to be impressive. At the entrance of all is a marble 5 arched gateway, perfect I think - impressive, dignified, as good as a Roman triumphal gate. 4 or 5 miles more brought us to the little walled town of Tseng Ping Chan at the gates of the hills and there we lunched on an excellent hot lunch of 4 courses. How it was done, I don't know, for Mêng and the cook had both been with us at the tombs. I asked Mêng who cooked it - he replied "belong one little[?] small boy" from which enigmatic answer I leave you to make what you can. We rested a couple of hours and fed our horses and at 12 started off for Peking some 32 miles away. Fortunately it was cloudy and we even had a few drops of rain, but we also had a dust storm an hour out of the town. We got in at 6, my pony very tired, but otherwise none the worse. A bath was not unpleasant. Claud, hearing we had returned, sent round to ask us to dine, which we did and passed a very merry evening with the Russell family. Next day, Thursday, the Court came in from the hunting lodge. It really was luck to see that tamasha. We went onto the top of the great Central gate on the Tartar wall, the Chien Men, the one the Boxers burnt in the beginning of the siege. We waited a long time; the Chinese don't seem to have heard that punctuality is the politeness of princes, or they don't care. Lady Arthur was with us and Hugo, with great intelligence, recognised Mr Backhouse from his likeness to his brother and introduced himself to him. Mr B. was in an agony of shyness and begged H not to introduce him to Lady A and me, but his wishes were foiled by our coming up and entering into conversation with him. Seeing that the worst had happened, he became extremely pleasant and told us all about everything and who everybody was and was most interesting. I asked him to come and see us, but he hasn't been yet. At about 11 they cleared the big court between the two gates and the procession began. First came mounted men carrying huge banners, pale pink with dragons on them and scarlet with General Jung's device; then a motley collection of soldiers in sailor hats very much battered and their pigtails wound round their heads (they look for all the world like very determined old maids) and then the Emperor's yellow chair. He got out just Bellow us and went into a little temple to the god of war (who is the tutelary deity of his house) to offer sacrifice: a little wizened man with a head far too big for his body. He got into his chair and was carried away. Then an interim of court followers carrying baskets of provisions slung over poles. They take everything with them when they go from palace to palace - every stick of furniture and food for 10 times the immense number of people that go with them, because so much vanishes by the way. And finally the Empress's procession, much more numerous than the Emperor's: banners, and mounted men and a lot of princes in yellow jackets and last the Empress's yellow chair. She got out too at the temple and walked in, brave in blue and mauve, supported on either side by a Manchu dignitary or a eunuch of something. When she came out, she stood for a long time in the temple court and examined the foreigners on the wall through opera glasses, bowing and waving a blue handkerchief to those whom she knew. She saw my camera too and gave it and me a special greeting all to ourselves. Then she was helped into her chair, handed a tray of refreshments, an imperial yellow tray, and was carried away. After her came the chairs of the young empress and all the princesses, but they didn't stop, and a rag tag and bobtail at the last. Wasn't that an amusing thing to have seen! We lunched with Lady A. Mr Kidstone and Mr Townley - Lady Susan is in the country. They were terribly busy over the non-evacuation of Manchuria. And in the afternoon we went to a Chinese children's party at Dr Morrison's. Lady Arthur and Mrs Cockburn, the wife of the Oriental Secretary, came too. It was very amusing, dancing boys (dressed up as girls) and conjurors and lots of little children and their mothers, mostly in the high Manchu headdress. It began at 12, the people arriving about 10, and it would go on till 8 PM when Dr M. said he should intimate that the party was over. On Friday moring we went in rickshaws through the Chinese City to the Temple of Heaven. You can't conceive what the horrible, fascinating streets of Peking are like. Full full of people, a high mud causeway down the middle, crowded booths on either side and a strait and uneven way between them and the shops. Your rickshaw dashes in and out, bumps over boulders, subsides into ditches, runs over dogs and toes and the outlying parts of booths and shops, upsets an occasional wheelbarrow, locks itself with rickshaws coming in the opposite direction and at a hand gallop conveys you, breathless, through dust and noise and smells unspeakable to where you would be. There are certainly more processions in Peking than in any other city; they considerably add to the difficulties of transit. We never go out without meeting a wedding or a funeral: we cannot tell which is which but I photograph them all impartially. After a couple of miles of this it was delightful to arrive at the walls of the Temple of Heaven and to go in through the immense cool quiet park where violets and irises were flowering under the pine trees. A party of gnomes siezed us; they hadn't a word of English between them so that their value as guides was small. We went first to the Hall of Fasting where the Emperor passes the night in prayer when he comes to offer his yearly sacrifice on the altar of Heaven. It consists of a big walled court with a moat round it and marble bridges, and inside a yellow tiled pavilion containing a magnificent carved throne and screen: the only things, so far as I could see, that the allied troops did not carry away. Next we went to the Southern Altar where the sacrifices are held. It is very impressive, a great marble platform of 3 low stories [sic], shallow steps leading up to it and marble balustrades round each story [sic], open to the sky, like the Temple of the Sun at Baalbek. The weeds flourish gaily between the marble slabs of the altar. To the north, in clumps of pines, are the dark blue roofs of the Hall of the Tablets and the Temple of Heaven. Thither we went, through mouldy courts sprinkled over with fragments of the blue tiles of the roofs. The temple is comparatively new and not in bad repair, very splendid inside, the great beams of it painted blue and green and the teak columns red and gold, but all deep in dust. There is not a thing left in it; tablets, bronzes, vases, everything has been carried off. We went back through the park, crossed the street and went into the smaller park on the other side, which contains the Temple of Agriculture and other altars and temples. Here the Emperor comes every year in the early spring and ploughs his lonely furrow under the eye of the god of agriculture. There's a fine symbolism about it. We lunched with Dr Morrison. There was another man there, an American called Monroe whom we have met during our travels - he was one of the passengers on the Pin Seng! - not very interesting. Americans are so boringly anecdotal. Dr M. was dreadfully perturbed over Manchuria and over a telegram he had just had from Domnul saying that he couldn't reconcile Dr M.'s last two telegrams! We came away soon after lunch, therefore, and he sent us with a letter to see a government industrial school in the Chinese City. The director was away, but his younger brother took us round and explained things to us in English. On our way home we spent some 2 hours in and out of all the shops; there are such exquisite things, but oh! they are so dear! It was great fun shopping in Chinese. We had to do it entirely by gesture. They brought us cups of tea and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, though we bought almost nothing. On Saturday morning we went to see a Lama monastery and temple; there's a bigger one outside the town which we are going to see tomorrow, so I won't tell you about this one. It wasn't particularly interesting, though there were some very beautiful bronzes in the courts and splendid Buddhas in the temples. Then we went to the Confucian temple which is a very beautiful place, the courts set with pine trees, cypresses of sorts. In one of them there are stone tablets containing the names of all the people who have graduated at the Triennial examinations for the past 500 years! Next to the temple is the Hall of the Classics in a big cloistered court. There is a half dry moat round it with lovely marble bridges over it, and, inside, a great carved screen and throne, very magnificent, but thick with dust. In the cloister there are huge tablets on which are inscribed the Chinese Classics, not a very convenient form of library as the tablets are some 10 ft high or more. You must be obliged to skip the beginning of the chapter always, for it's too high up to read. In the afternoon H went to see a mission and I went photographing in the wonderful streets. We dined with the French Minister, M. Dubail, who is an old friend of mine, a fellow passenger on the Salasic, Maurice will remember him. I had let him know I was here and received the enclosed note in answer. He's rather a horrible little man, clever, a great connoisseur in china and things, effusively delighted to see me, and most friendly. He has most lovely things in his house. One of the secretaries was dining also, Alguât (a Breton), I think his name is. We were amused. M. Dubail gave me a glass pot for a present and asked us to lunch today.
Later. Well, we had a very pleasant lunch with le plus humble de .... serviteurs and 3 secretaries, different from the one of yesterday and all very agreeable. M. Dubail, who is certainly extremely kind, took us afterwards shopping and we spent a most amusing afternoon, saw some exquisite things and bought a few, not so exquisite, but less dear. One of the secretaries, M. le Duc came with us; he speaks Chinese and what with his help and M. Dubail's we think we have not been cheated. It was the greatest fun. I'm so glad I speak French so well, aren't you? Hugo has gone off to dine and sleep with the bishop who lives so far away that he couldn't get back after dinner. He left us before the last shop. We came home in a terrible dust storm; it's perfectly appalling, Peking [Beijing] in a dust storm. I think and hope it's going to rain. I shall send this letter now for we're told that there are 3 Russian posts a week. I wonder how soon it will reach you. We have ordered our next mail to meet us at Cheefu [Yantai (Chefoo)] on our way to Korea. It was the only safe place. Meantime we are letterless. I hope you are flourishing! Ever your affectionate daughter Gertrude