The Princes of Chien-an and of Lo-an, who were present at the doctor’s dinner, proved to be cultivated but effete men of middle age. Neither was related to the reigning Emperor. They began to form a favourable view of Ricci: he knew the fine points of etiquette, could quote appositely from the classics and had amusing ideas about geography and mathematics. Ricci for the first time found himself among men of the highest rank who had never known him as that scurrilous being, a bonze. Intuitively catching and adapting himself to the mood of this new company, he was able to converse and laugh as though he had always belonged. At last he felt accepted: first stage towards making the Gospel acceptable.
During the course of the five-hour banquet the doctor said that Shih, the Minister of War, had been astonished by the Far Westerner’s memory. He turned to Ricci, who, as a stranger, sat in the place of honour.
“Will you be so good,” he asked, “to prove to my guests that I have not exaggerated?”
Ricci demurred, saying that the gift was not uncommon. This only increased curiosity and finally Ricci agreed to a demonstration. For the Chinese, who judged by externals, his spiritual authority must be backed by worldly prestige.
The doctor sent a servant to his library for a book. Handing it to Ricci he said, “I should be most grateful if you would deign to learn one of the poems and recite it to my guests.”
It took Ricci only a few minutes to read the short book, containing four or five hundred characters, a single time. Then he handed it back.
“You decline?” asked the doctor in surprise.
“I think I have memorised it already,” replied Ricci.
The guests smiled.
“Impossible,” said the doctor. “You have scarcely had time to read it through.”
In answer Ricci rose to his feet. His figure, tall by Chinese standards, with its thick beard and forceful nose, dominated the room. For a moment he was back at the Roman College, about to declaim Cicero; then, visualising the columns of hieroglyphics, he began to read them from his memory with as much ease as from the book. When he had recited not one but all the poems, for some time no one spoke. Then the doctor said in embarrassment, “You must have seen the book before.”
“I set eyes on it for the first time tonight,” replied Ricci, but he noticed that the guests remained dubious. To avoid the impression of cheating, he continued, “If you will write down a list of characters with no connexion between them—as many as five hundred—I will repeat them from memory.”
The guests welcomed the idea; paper, a brush and ink were brought in, and everyone wrote down in turn the first words that came into his head. After several pages had been covered, they were handed to Ricci. He read the nonsense through a single time and gave back the papers, so that the doctor could check his recitation. Then he repeated it word for word, his authoritative voice almost lending meaning to the Chinese gibberish.
“Not a single mistake!” exclaimed the doctor.
This time the guests, convinced beyond doubt, applauded the extraordinary display, and clamoured for another. Ricci declined, but they would not be put off, and finally he proposed to repeat the nonsense backwards. Unhesitatingly he recited the formidable list of disconnected characters, from tail to head, again without fault. The other guests crowded round his table to congratulate him. How was it possible? Did all men in the West possess such a gift? Would he teach it to them—and to their sons, for it would be a great help in their examinations? When the clamour had subsided, Ricci explained how much he wished to remain in Nanchang. As the guests were hopeful of learning his mnemonic method, they approved his plan and offered to help.
Next day Ricci’s fame had spread and he received countless courtesy visits. From among his acquaintances he set himself to win one of the most influential, who had already shown himself sympathetic. This was the Prince of Chien-an, who invited Ricci to his palace, received him wearing his robes and crown, and gave him tea to sip from bowls painted with the imperial dragon. In his palace Ricci for the first time saw wealth comparable to that of the Italian nobility, for the mandarins, even the highest, were poorly paid and though they lived comfortably in houses provided by the government, few could afford to surround themselves with beauty. China in her wisdom permitted only a handful of princes scattered across the country to spend extravagantly as the surest means of rendering them powerless. The palace was filled with antique jasper vases, scroll paintings and lacquered furniture, which, Ricci noticed, was as flimsily constructed as the houses. The prince loaded his guest with magnificent gifts; unable to afford an equivalent expense, Ricci was obliged to fashion presents with his own hands. He offered a globe of the world, a geometric quadrant, a sphere, various pictures and prisms, and out of local black stone constructed a sundial, marked with the twenty-four periods of the Chinese lunar year and appropriate moral axioms. The prince set it up on a pedestal of pink stone in his famous garden, where he showed it off to Ricci.
The garden had been conceived as an ideal painting, according to the principle that nature should aspire to the condition of art. The naturally flat surface had been made undulant, raised into hills, scooped into valleys, roughened into rocks; distances pencilled; colours intricately matched as on a robe of brocade; bright-leaved trees contrasted with those of a dusky foliage wherein from time to time specially reared birds sang like mechanical toys. Goldfish flashed perpetual sunset on the waters of artificial lakes embossed with lotus and relieved by well-sited islands, their banks indented. Each had its character, some smooth and level, some steep and uneven, some gloomy with woods, others festooned with flowers. Around dead tree-trunks fretted like fossils blue and white peonies clustered: between which, as though to re-dye their plumage, paraded cranes and peacocks. Porcelain lions and tigers defended palatial pavilions, sited to enjoy the most intricate view and subtlest mingling of scents. Here, from bowls of agate and porcelain, cool juices were sipped, that every sense might be sated. It was no less a terrestrial paradise than the actual Garden of Eden, bounded by fiery walls, supposed to lie in furthest Asia: and as such the pleasure-ground was treated by those who enjoyed its fruits. Since they possessed Eden, heaven did not matter.
At the palace intellectual pursuits were followed with the same end. Every mood had its truth, which could be blended one against another like the features of a garden, to titillate, not to command assent, let alone engagement. The prince listened with attention to Ricci’s mathematics and religion, savouring them like exotic blooms. He esteemed more than any other gift an atlas beautifully bound in Japanese paper (a Latin work from Macao with names of the continents and chief countries translated) and the manuscript of a book Ricci had composed during his stay in Nanchang on the subject of friendship. Ricci prized nothing in life so much, seeking and making friends spontaneously. Time and again he had been hurt when his overtures had foundered on the rock of xenophobia. By writing such a work he fulfilled his own affectionate nature and hoped to dispel one of the chief obstacles to missionary progress.
The book took the form of a dialogue, the prince asking Ricci what Westerners thought of friendship, and Ricci replying with all that he could remember from European philosophers and saints. Entitled A Treatise on Friendship, the main body of the work consisted of seventy-six sentences, short and to the point, like the axioms of Confucius. It was written on alternate pages in Chinese and in a transliteration from the Italian original, so that the reader could enunciate for himself the curious barbarian language. Its success surprised Ricci, the simplest statements, truisms in Europe, being hailed as profoundly original discoveries. The manuscript aroused wide-spread interest and copies were transcribed by several of the prince’s entourage.
Through the late summer and autumn Ricci continued to pay and receive visits, quite accustomed now to his plum-coloured silk robes and mitred hat, to the new respect and elaborate politeness. His grey habit had been ashes damping the fire which now flickered and blazed. His way of life came to be admired—even by cas
ual acquaintances, for the Chinese considered good-humour the better part of goodness. Accepted as an equal, even as a friend, he won the favour of leading mandarins and obtained permission for other graduate preachers to join him.
His success in Nanchang convinced Ricci that if only permission could be obtained from Peking to preach Christianity openly, in a short time millions of converts could be made. Without such official sanction, the mission stood in constant danger. When, in the following year, Valignano visited Macao, Ricci wrote to the Visitor, proposing that he be allowed to travel to Peking and win the Emperor’s goodwill. The arrival of his letter coincided with news from Europe that Ruggieri had failed to win support for a papal embassy to the Son of Heaven. War had broken out between Navarre and France; Spain, her trade routes increasingly harried by English ships, could scarcely provide for essential needs. No one had time for this new Lazarus, or money for his remote world. Valignano, therefore, at once approved Ricci’s plan and, since it would no longer be feasible at such a distance to consult Macao on important decisions, appointed Ricci Superior of the mission within China.
Ricci responded vigorously to the challenge of his new orders, convinced by his experience on shipboard two years before that he would be given all necessary assistance. Gifts had been collected at Macao against the proposed embassy: these were now dispatched to Nanchang. When they arrived he showed the clocks and paintings and other European objects to the Prince of Chien-an, asking whether he would help to present them. To his surprise, the prince declined. Ricci persevered, but despite numerous attentions and kindnesses, met with an absolute refusal. Only then did he learn from one of the mandarins how close he had come to ruining the mission. Applying European categories to Chinese society, he had supposed the surest way to approach an Emperor was through a prince of the blood royal. In fact no class in China was viewed with greater suspicion, for in the past many rebellions had crystallised round usurping princes. If the Prince of Chien-an had even hinted that, in league with Ricci, he intended to approach the Emperor, so nervous was the central Government that the incident would have been considered a threat to internal stability and the legal succession, a plot to hand China over to the Portuguese.
A less dangerous opportunity soon arose, when a former acquaintance, Wang Chung-ming, passed through Nanchang on his way to high office in Nanking. Learning that a month after his arrival Wang would be visiting Peking for the Emperor’s birthday, Ricci asked leave to accompany him. At first Wang raised difficulties, but when Ricci pointed out that he simply asked protection and that he and his friends would pay their own expenses, the Minister agreed.
Under the Dragon Moon—in the month of June—Ricci left for Nanking with Cattaneo and Brother Sebastian. Though his party had its own hired boat, for much of the ten days’ journey Ricci travelled on Wang’s barge, discussing the best way of offering gifts to the Emperor. Ricci increased Wang’s obligation to him by making the mandarin a present of one of the two clocks.
Nanking they found in a state of extreme alarm and suspicion. Just as hostilities in Europe had baulked the plan of an embassy, so now the Korean war seemed to threaten the alternative scheme. Already the imperial exchequer was drained and Chinese forces could not resist much longer. A few days before, Japanese spies had been caught in Nanking: as a result all lodging-houses received orders to turn away suspicious-looking persons. Unable to find a room, the travellers were obliged to live on their small boat, in squalid conditions, during a period of very hot weather. Worse still, fear of delation was once again proving stronger than natural kindness. However, Ricci’s presents had indebted Wang so greatly that he feared even more the discourtesy of sending his guests back. He agreed to let them travel to Peking by water with his baggage, while he made the journey by land. He put at their disposal a light “horse boat,” so called because of its speed, carrying a cargo of gianmui, fruit of the arbutus tree.
In mid-July Ricci set sail from Nanking, down the Yangtze into the Imperial Canal, constructed three centuries before to link Peking with the southern provinces. It was crowded as a city centre with fleets of barges carrying tribute in kind and in silver to Peking for the expenses of government and the Emperor—all land was held direct from the crown—and with barges of mandarins sailing up to the capital for the imperial birthday. Ricci counted over a hundred boats pass every hour, and this procession lasted all day long. A system of lock gates kept the water at the required level, but so dense was the traffic that sometimes vessels had to wait days before passing the sluices. In the narrow strip of water sail could seldom be used, and most boats were tracked by coolies. In addition, more than a million men were continually employed in repairing and deepening the vital artery. When he asked why the sea route was not used, Ricci was told that, although it was shorter and quicker, typhoons and pirates rendered it unsafe.
The canal was lined like a street with towns and workmen’s houses. Among the sights that interested Ricci were huge beams, tree-trunks and wooden columns, bound together, sometimes to the length of two miles, and dragged by many thousands of coolies. These, he was told, were being conveyed from the province of Szechwan to rebuild part of the imperial palace, damaged two years previously by fire. So slow was their progress that Ricci reckoned the total time of transport would amount to almost three years. In addition to tribute, the best fruit and fish, tea and rice, silk and cloth were each year carried to the Emperor’s court. The perishable food was kept in ice, supplies of which were collected from deep cellars at points along the canal.
Along the five hundred miles of artificial waterway, straight as a Roman road, Ricci took bearings which would add yet more of a sub-continent larger than Europe to Italian maps. More than ever he and Cattaneo were astonished by the vast extent of the country. As they sailed on week after week without arriving, it seemed as though their destination must be eternity. Gradually paddy fields began to disappear, the weather became more temperate, coal instead of wood was used to cook meals, the people became taller and heavier, with coarser, larger faces and higher cheekbones. Yet officials still spoke mandarin, received the same education and owed the same allegiance as their colleagues in Kwangtung: northern and southern characteristics were united in a single nation, a reason perhaps for her stability and advanced civilisation.
In early September they arrived at Tungchow, port for Peking. A large canal led up to the city walls but was reserved for boats going to the imperial palace. All other merchandise was carried in carts, on horseback or by coolies. Disembarking, Ricci and Cattaneo took a sedan to the capital, fifteen miles away, with the intention of visiting Wang’s house. As at Nanking, the most striking feature was the circuit of immensely powerful brick walls, guarded by four-storeyed gate towers. The buildings perhaps betrayed less ostentation of carving and colour, the city was less extensive than Nanking, but climate above all marked the difference. The southern capital had been humid and sweltering, whereas now the travellers could believe themselves under European skies. Against windswept dust everyone in the streets wore black veils: a custom Ricci decided to follow as a means of concealment.
The imperial palace lay within the second wall, at the south gate, and extended for a mile across the whole length of the city to the northern wall. The sedans were lowered close to the magnificent gates and their occupants told to dismount in homage. This was the meeting-point of Heaven and earth, symbolised on painted scrolls by low clouds merging with the palace courtyards. That day there were no clouds to interrupt a view extending northwards across gates and pavilions for over a mile. As he scanned the glazed roofs of imperial yellow gleaming like gold, Ricci felt a stir of triumph at the completion of a journey which, from his first landing in China, had taken sixteen years. He had arrived: it remained only to meet the Emperor.
Ricci, however, was soon shocked to learn that the distance between Peking and the palace was more formidable than that between Macao and the capital. The Emperor was surrounded not only by his palace ladies but by
an army often thousand eunuchs, who controlled the palace and all access to it. The custom originated in the punishment of certain crimes by castration à la Turque and perpetual service in the imperial palace. Later these prisoners gained such power that the office was prized. Parents castrated their small sons and even adults submitted to the operation as a means towards influence and wealth. For although officially all power lay in the hands of the mandarins, the eunuchs played at least as important a role. They came from the lowest classes, were uneducated and having passed most of their lives in slavery were abject, resentful and greedy for power. Having adopted the role of a graduate in order to win mandarin support, Ricci now found himself confronted with yet another group opposed to all that graduates represented. The eunuchs would perform favours only when bribed with enormous sums, far beyond Ricci’s means. The resident mandarins in the Ministries, compelled to buy the eunuchs’ services, extorted money from the provincial mandarins under threat of removing them from office. They in turn were forced to accept bribes in their own provinces. The city, in short, seemed to Ricci a veritable Babylon of confusion, the elements of natural religion which he had observed elsewhere being submerged under a welter of corruption, injustice and intrigue.
At Wang’s request one of the palace eunuchs inspected Ricci’s European curios, but made it clear that, with the Japanese in Korea and threatening the Middle Kingdom itself, presents from a barbarian would not be welcome. He hinted that he would exert his influence only if Ricci revealed to him the secret of changing cinnabar into silver. After spending two months in unsuccessful attempts to offer his gifts, reluctantly Ricci decided to withdraw from Peking. He would await the end of the war and obtain further introductions before returning for a final assault on the palace.
Without difficulty he found places in one of the boats returning empty. Since the captain could not afford trackers, they drifted slowly and in December were halted altogether by the frozen canal at Lintsing, an important trading centre, crowded with merchants but unsuitable for a mission residence. The logical course was to remain there until the canal thawed in April, then continue to Nanking. But six fruitless months had heightened Ricci’s sense of urgency. He decided to leave Cattaneo and the rest of his party with the presents and baggage, which it would be impossible to transport by land, while he travelled south to find a suitable town for a new house. Because Ch’ü T’ai-su, his “disciple,” had often said that he would be glad to help Ricci settle in Nanking province, he decided to go to Soochow, where Ch’ü was now living.
Wise Man Of The West (Harvill Press Editions) Page 13
