京华烟云英文版(部分)momentinpeking.docVIP

Chapter 1 It was the morning of the twentieth of July, 1900. A party of mule carts were lined up at the western entrance of the Matajen Hutung, a street in the East of City of Peking, part of the mules and carts extending to the alley running north and south along the pink walls of the Big Buddha Temple. The cart drivers were early; they had come there at dawn, and there was quite a hubbub in that early morning, as was always the case with these noisy drivers. Lota, an old man of about fifty and head servant of the family that had engaged the carts for a long journey, was smoking a pipe and watching the drivers feeding the mules; and the drivers were joking and quarreling with each other. When they could not joke about each other’s animals and the animals’ ancestors, they joked about themselves. “In such times,” said one, “who can tell whether one comes back dead or alive after this journey?” “You are well paid for it, aren’t you?” said Lota. “You can buy a farm with a hundred taels of silver.” “What is the use of silver when you are dead?” replied the driver. “Those bullets from foreign rifles doesn’t recognize persons. Peng-teng! It goes through your brain-cap and you are already a corpse with a crooked queue. Look at the belly of this mule! Can flesh stay bullets? But what can you do? One has to earn a living.” “It’s difficult to say,” rejoined another. “Once the foreign soldiers come into the city, Peking won’t be such a good place to live in, either. For myself, I’m glad to get away..” The sun rose from the east shone upon the entrance to the house, making the leaves of the big colanut tree glisten with the dew. This was the Yao house. It was not an imposing entrance – a small black door with a red disc in the center. The colanut tree cast its shade over the entrance, and a driver was sitting on a low stone tablet sunk into the ground. The morning was delightful, and yet it promised to be a hot day with a clear sky. A medium-sized earthen jar was standing near