Dragon And Phoenix

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Dragon And Phoenix

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.
from the belief in immortality. The living individual feels a keen sense
of permanence through the continuity of a long line of ancestors,
whose influence perceptibly surrounds those actually living;
moreover, their own actions are raised to a higher plane, as seen not
from the narrow interests of the present, but in relation to the life of
the generations that are to succeed, in whom the character and
action of the individual now living will persist.
This evening's entertainment, with its intimate Chinese setting and
its conversation dealing with the deeper relationships between
different civilizations, has remained a memorable experience for
those who attended it. Only recently it was thus recalled by one of
the guests: "Think of going to a dinner with the 'Secretary of Justice'
in Washington, and conversing about the immortality of the soul!"
Interested to see how, despite the new ways in China, the old
Confucianism persisted, I determined upon a pilgrimage to the
Confucian shrines. Dr. Henry C. Adams invited me in November,
1914, to join him on a trip to the sacred mountain, Taishan, in
Shantung Province, and to Chüfu, the home of Confucius.
A small party was made up. I slipped away quietly in order to avoid
official attentions and to spare the local authorities all the bother of
formally entertaining a foreign representative. We arrived at Taianfu
early in the morning, where with the help of missionaries chair-
bearers had been secured to carry us up the mountain.
The trip to these sacred heights is of an unusual character. The
ascent from the base is almost continuously over stair-ways. Up
these steep and difficult grades two sturdy chairmen, with a third as
alternate, will carry the traveller rapidly and with easy gait. The
route is fascinating not only because of the singular natural beauty
of the ravines through which it passes, and of the constantly
broadening prospects over the fruitful plains of Shantung from every
eminence, but because of the historic interest of the place; this is
testified to by innumerable temples, monuments, tablets, and
inscriptions sculptured in the living rock which line the path up the
mountain. It must be remembered that in the time of Confucius this
was already a place of pilgrimage of immemorial tradition; a place of
special grandeur, wherein the mind might be freed of its narrow
needs and find its place in the infinite. Many of its monuments refer
to Confucius and record his sayings as he stopped by the way to rest
or to behold the prospect. At one point, whence one looks off a
steep precipice down to the plain thousands of feet below, his
saying, as reported, was: "Seen from this height, man is indeed but
a speck or insect." But not all of his remarks were of this obvious
nature, which justifies itself in its appeal to the common mind, to be
initiated into the truths of the spirit.
In these thousands of years many other sages, emperors, and
statesmen have ascended the sacred hill, also leaving memorials in
the shape of sculptured stones bearing their sentiments. It would be
an agreeable task for a vacation to read these inscriptions and to let
the imagination shadow forth again these unending pilgrimages
extending back to the dawn of history.
The stairway leading up the mountain, which is about 6,000 feet
high, is often so steep that we had to guard against being overcome
by dizziness in looking down. Occasionally a stop is made at a
wayside temple, where tea is served in the shady courts. In the
summer heat these refuges must be especially grateful. We reached
the temples that crown the summit after a journey of about six
hours. In a temple court at the very top the servants who had
preceded us had set up their kitchen, and an ample luncheon was
awaiting us there.
At this altitude a cold and cutting wind was blowing. Yet we
preferred to stay outside of the temple buildings in order to enjoy
the view which is here unrolled, embracing a great portion of the
whole province of Shantung. I noted that the coolies did not seem
impressed with the sanctity of this majestic height, but used the
temple courts as a caravanserai.
The descent is made rapidly, as the practised chair-bearers run down
the stairs with quick, sure steps—which gives the passenger the
sensation of skirting the mountainside in an aeroplane. When I
inquired whether accidents did not occasionally happen, they told
me: "Yes, but the last time when any one has fallen was about four
hundred years ago." As in the early days chair-bearers who had
fallen were killed, the tendency to fall was in the course of time
eradicated. They descend with a gliding motion that reminds one of
the flight of birds. The chair-bearers are united in a guild, and
happen to be Mohammedans by religion.
The town of Taianfu, which lies at the foot of the mountain, is
notable for a very ancient and stately temple dedicated to the god
who represents the original nature worship which centres around
Mount Taishan, and which forms the historic basis for all religion in
China. The spacious temple courts, with their immemorial trees and
their forests of tall stone tablets bearing inscriptions dedicated by
emperors for thousands of years past, testify to the strength of the
native faith. The streets of the town, set at frequent intervals with
arches bearing sculptured animal forms, were lined with shops
through whose trellised windows, now that night had come, lights
were shining, revealing the activities within. These, with an
occasional tall tower or temple shadowing the gathering darkness,
made this old town appear full of romance and strange beauty.
Sleeping on our car, we were by night carried to the railway station
of Chüfu; some seven miles farther on lies the town of the same
name, the home of Confucius. We hired donkey carts at the station;
also, as the ladies were anxious to have the experience of using the
local passenger vehicle, the wheel-barrow, we engaged a few of
these; whereupon our modest cavalcade proceeded first to the
Confucian burial ground, to the north of the city. On the way thither
we were met by chair-bearers who carried a portable throne and
brought complimentary messages from the Holy Duke. As the chair
had been sent for my use, there was nothing for it but to get in.
Soon appeared, also, a string of mule carts drawn by sleek and well-
fed animals, contrasting with the bony and dishevelled beasts we
had hired.
It was plain that the incognito was ended, and that the Duke had
been apprised of our coming. Then came the emissaries of the
district magistrate, offering further courtesies, such as a guard of
honour; and another delegation from the Duke brought a huge red
envelope containing an invitation for luncheon. We tried to decline
all these civilities and to stroll about quietly, in order to come entirely
under the spell of this place. But there was no more rambling and
strolling for us. We had to sit in our chairs and carts, and, after two
polite declinations of the luncheon invitation, alleging the shortness
of our time and our desire to see everything thoroughly, and asking
leave to call on the Duke later in the afternoon—we accepted the
customary third issue of the ducal invitation.
Our procession was quite imposing as we passed on to the inner
gate of the cemetery. Covering about one and a half square miles,
the enclosure has been the burial ground of the Confucian family for
at least three thousand years, antedating Confucius himself. No
other family in the world has such memorials of its continuity. The
simple dignity of a huge marble slab set erect before the mound-
covered grave marks the burial place of the sage. The adjoining site
of the house where his disciples guarded his tomb for generations,
but which ultimately disappeared some two thousand years ago, also
bears monuments and inscriptions.
Leaving the cemetery, a large cavalry escort sent by the district
magistrate joined our cavalcade of chairs, mule carts, and
wheelbarrows, together with crowds of the curious who trudged
along. The village streets were lined with people anxious to see the
strangers; but their curiosity had nothing intrusive. They were
friendly lookers-on, nodding a pleasant welcome should your eye
catch theirs.
We passed through many gates of the ancient palace before we
were finally received by the Duke himself at the main inner doorway.
He was accompanied by the magistrate, and with these two we sat
down to chat; nearly an hour elapsed before we were summoned to
the table. The meal, which was made up of innumerable courses,
lasted at least two hours, during which we kept up an animated
conversation concerning the more recent history of the town and of
the temple.
The Duke was agitated because missionaries from Taianfu were
trying to acquire land in the town of Chüfu. He looked upon this
intrusion as unwarranted, saying that as his town was devoted to
the memory of the Chinese sage, it did not seem suitable that any
foreign religion should try to introduce its worship, and it would
certainly result in local ill-feeling.
I tried to quiet his apprehensions by speaking of the educational
work of missionaries, of the fact that they, also, respected the great
sage; but it was hard to allay his opposition.
The magistrate was jovial, laughing uproariously at the mildest joke.
When we arose from the table, the Duke took us to the apartments
of the Duchess, who was staying with the infant daughter recently
born, their first child. The Duchess was his second wife, and he was
considerably her senior. The little lady seemed to be particularly fond
of cats, of which at least forty were playing about her; one of these
she presented to Mrs. Adams.
The great Temple of Confucius immediately adjoins the palace.
Although the afternoon was wearing on, we still had time to visit it
and to wander about in its noble courts. The pillars in the main halls
are adorned by marvellous sculpture, and the temple is remarkable
for the refined beauty of the structures composing it and for the
serene dignity of its aspect. Adjoining the main temple is an ancient
well near which stood the original house of Confucius. Stone reliefs
present in a long series the history of Confucius in pictures, and
there is a great collection of instruments used in performing the
classical music. But the chief charm of the temple lies in the vistas
afforded by its courts, set with magnificent trees and with the
monuments of the past seventy generations.
It was dark when we had finished our visit to the temple. We bade
the Duke farewell, and our cavalcade, starting back to the station,
was now made picturesque by the flaring torches and the huge
paper lanterns which were carried alongside each chair and cart.
Slowly the procession wound its way back over the dark plains
toward the lights of the station platform and the emblems of a
mechanical civilization that contrasted at every point with the life we
had seen. The Duke had regretted having objected so strongly to
the proposal to bring the railway closer to the town, for it was of
inconvenience to visitors; but he felt, after all, that the great sage
himself would always prefer the peacefulness and quiet of the older
civilization.
I revisited Chüfu three years later, this time with Mr. Charles R.
Crane and Mrs. Reinsch, who had been unable to accompany me on
the first visit. The officials were expecting us, and everywhere we
were followed with attentions. Not satisfied with giving us two
private cars, the railway officials insisted that we have a special
engine, too. In the region of Chüfu we gathered an army of military
escorts. Arriving at the palace, the Duke greeted us with a child on
either arm. The little daughter was now over three, the son slightly
over one year old. I have never seen any one who appeared more
devoted to his children than the Duke. He always had them with
him, carried them about, playing with them and fondling them.
When he and the Duchess visited us in Peking he brought the two
little ones, and they and my small children played long together
joyfully and to the amusement of their elders. The Duke was tall,
broad-shouldered, aristocratic looking. While not credited with great
ability, he was undoubtedly a man of intelligence, although his
education had been narrowly classical and had not given him contact
with the world's affairs. He was seventy-third in line from the great
sage. At that time he was engaged especially with plans to create in
Chüfu a university wherein the Confucian tradition should be
preserved in its purity, but which should also teach modern science.
Once during the revolution against the Manchus the Duke was
considered a possible successor to the throne. If the country had
had a Chinese family of great prominence in affairs, the transfer of
the monarchy to a Chinese house might have been accomplished,
but the Duke was by no means a man of action or a politician.
Neither had the descendants of the Ming, Sung, and Chow
emperors, or of other Imperial houses, sufficient prominence or
genius for leadership to command national attention.
The title of the Holy Duke is the only one in China which remains
permanently the same. Under the empire, titles were granted, but in
each succeeding generation the rank was lowered by one grade until
the status of a commoner had again been reached. By this
arrangement, under which noble rank gradually "petered out," China
escaped the creation of a class or caste of nobility.

CHAPTER IV
A GLIMPSE BEHIND THE POLITICAL SCENES
Modelling largely on American example, China is striving to create
truly representative political institutions. Personal rule, imperial
traditions, hamper the Chinese in their efforts, unguided as they are
by experience; moreover, they meet with foreign skepticism and
opposition. It is America's rôle not officiously to interfere in their
endeavours, but in every proper way to help them.
The institutions a nation develops are largely its own business. Other
nations should not interfere. But in China all liberal-minded, forward-
looking men see in the United States a free government which they
not only wish to emulate, but to which they look for interest,
sympathy, and moral assistance. The results of their efforts are by
no means indifferent to us. Should they fail, should militarist and
absolutist elements gain the upper hand; particularly, should China
become an appendage to a foreign militarist autocracy, grave
dangers would arise. The ideals of the progressive Chinese are in
keeping with the peaceful, industrious traditions of China. With these
traditions Americans in China are closely allied. They do not seek,
nor have they need to seek, to control by political means the choice
of the Chinese people. On the other hand, it would be difficult for
them to tolerate any attempt to prevent the Chinese from freely
following the model of their choice, and from securing those
mutually helpful relations with Americans which they themselves
desire. In this sense only, then, have Americans a vital interest in
Chinese politics. That personal rule and imperial traditions, as well as
military despotism, are still powerful enough to hamper the will of
the new Chinese democracy may be manifest from a few instances
that early came to my attention.
The first case was that of Mr. C.T. Wang. When he related to me the
history of the dissolution of his party—he was and still is one of the
leaders of the democratic party (Kuo Min Tang)—he told me that he
was in great personal danger. Mr. Wang had been marked for
execution as a leader of the disbanded party and he was living in
concealment as a refugee.
His call upon me, shortly after my arrival in Peking, was my first
direct contact with Chinese internal or party politics. He had greeted
me at the railway station upon my arrival, and now he told me the
story of Yuan Shih-kai's successful attempt to break down the
opposition of the parliament and to render that body entirely
innocuous. Mr. Wang was the Vice-President of the Senate, and
through his party was associated with Dr. Sun Yat-sen and General
Huang Hsin, the men who had attempted the revolution during the
summer just passed. But Mr. Wang represented the younger, more
modern-minded elements in the party, who desired to adopt the best
institutions and practices of the West, but who did not favour violent
measures.
Yuan Shih-kai had divided the majority party, in order in the end to
destroy its two sections. The most recent action in this fight was the
dissolution of the Kuo Min Tang, which was decreed by the President
on November 5th, on the ground that this body was implicated in,
and responsible for, the revolutionary movement against the
President. The President had approached the Tutuhs—or military
governors, after the downfall of Yuan Shih-kai called Tuchuns—in the
various provinces and had secured in advance an endorsement of his
action. Of course, this appeal ignored the constitutional character
which the state was supposed to have, and encouraged the military
governors in thinking that they were semi-independent rulers. After
the death of Yuan their sense of their own importance and
independence grew apace. They imitated him in looking upon their
armies as their personal property. Moreover, they seized control of
the provincial taxes. From all this arose that pseudo-feudalism of
military despots, which is the baneful heritage left by Yuan Shih-kai
in China.
I had already received, through the Department of State, an inquiry
from American friends concerning Mr. Wang's safety. He was
graduated from Yale University, was first among the American-
returned students, and favourably known among Americans in
general. He had been the president of the Chinese Y.M.C.A. and bore
the reputation of being an able, clean-handed, and conscientious
man. I could not, of course, know in how serious danger Mr. Wang
found himself, nor could I make any formal representations in a case
where the facts were unknown. However, through making inquiry as
to whether any unfavourable action, such as arrest, was
contemplated, I hinted to the Government that any harsh action
against Mr. Wang would be noted. The very fact that a well-disposed
foreign nation is taking notice will tend to prevent rash or high-
handed action, which is frequently forced by some individual
hothead commander or official. When public attention has been
directed to the unjust treatment of a man, rash vindictiveness may
be restrained by wiser heads.
A further example of the working of Chinese internal politics which
came under my observation at this time is shown in the method by
which Yuan Shih-kai politely imprisoned the Vice-President.
From time to time Yuan Shih-kai had made efforts to induce the
Vice-President, General Li Yuan-hung, to come to Peking from
Wuchang, where he was stationed in command of troops. He had
sent him messengers and letters, protesting the need he felt of
having General Li closely by his side in order to profit by his support
and advice on important affairs. These polite invitations had been
answered by General Li in a most self-deprecatory tone; he could
not aspire to the merit and wisdom attributed to him by the
President; he could be of but little assistance in important affairs of
state; it was far better for him to stay in his position as commander
at Wuchang, whence he could effectively support the authority of
the President and all his beneficent works.
This interchange of correspondence went on for some time. It was
evident that General Li did not wish to come to Peking. It was
surmised that the President did not like the prominence which the
democratic party had given to the name of General Li Yuang-hung,
whom they had heralded as a true republican and a man of popular
sympathies. Probably Yuan feared that General Li might be placed at
the head of a new political movement against the President's
authority.
The President not only sent messengers and letters of cordial
invitation, but he also rearranged the disposal of troops, with the
result that bodies of troops upon which Yuan Shih-kai could rely
were drawn around Wuchang with a constantly shortening radius.
Finally in December General Li realized that he had no alternative.
He therefore informed the latest messenger of Tuan that he could no
longer resist the repeated cordial invitations, and that while he was
sharply conscious of his shortcomings, he would endeavour to assist
the chief magistrate to the limit of his powers.
He came to Peking in December, without troops of his own. The
President received him with the greatest cordiality, embracing him
and vowing that now the burden of responsibility was lightened for
him; that he must have his great associate and friend always close
at hand, where he could consult with him daily, in fact, any hour of
the day and night; he therefore invited General Li to make his home
close to the palace of Yuan, namely, on the little island in the South
Lake in whose many-coloured, gracefully formed halls, Emperor
Kwang Hsu was for many years kept a prisoner by the Empress
Dowager.
There General Li took his residence, knowing that his great friend
the first magistrate could not spare his presence at any hour of day
or night.
The question arose whether the foreign representatives should call
on the newly arrived Vice-President. The Government tentatively
suggested that as hosts it might be proper for them to make the first
call. Whether or not this was done in the expectation that the
suggestion would not be accepted, it certainly was not the desire of
Yuan Shih-kai to encourage close relations between the Vice-
President and any outsiders.
Although Yuan Shih-kai still allowed the rump parliament to exist, he
had undoubtedly decided at this time to dispose of it entirely. A
ready pretext was at hand, because, with the expulsion of the Kuo
Min Tang, the parliament no longer could muster a quorum. On
November 13th, it was announced that a central administrative
conference would be created to act in an advisory capacity in
matters of government. It was plain that this body was intended to
displace parliament. The list of nominees was made up mostly of
men of the old régime, literati and ex-officials—the kind known
among the Chinese as "skeletons"; a group of high standing and
very good reputation, but from which little constructive action could
be expected. Among them was a very effective orator, Ma Liang, a
member of the Roman Catholic Church. He was a dignified, elderly
man, who came to see me to talk about reforestation and
colonization of outlying regions. His contact with Western civilization
had been through the Jesuit College at Zikawei. Another member
was Dr. Yen Fu, who had won reputation by translating a large
number of scientific works into Chinese and creating a modern
scientific terminology in Chinese. Among other councillors with
whom I became well acquainted was Hsu Shih-chang, later President
of China, and Li Ching-hsi, a nephew of Li Hung-chang, who had
been Viceroy of Yunnan under the Empire.
Dr. Frank J. Goodnow, the American Constitutional Advisor, often
discussed Chinese political affairs with me. It was his impression that
parliament had attempted to take over too much of Western political
practice without sufficiently considering its adaptability to Chinese
uses. He believed that the administrative power should not be
subject to constant interference by parliament, and that China was
not yet ready for the cabinet system. He therefore held a rather
conservative view favouring gradual development in the direction of
Western institutions, but not a wholesale adoption of the same. The
Yuan Shih-kai government took advantage of this attitude of the
American expert to give out, whenever it proposed a new
arrangement for strengthening its hold, that the matter had the
approval of Doctor Goodnow and other foreign advisers. However,
these authorities were not really consulted; that is, they were not
brought into the important conferences, nor given the chance to
coöperate in the formulation of vital projects. As a matter of form
they were, of course, "consulted"—but usually after the decisions
had been made. They were informed of what had been agreed
upon; and then it was announced that the approval of the advisers
had been secured. Another example of the bland self-sufficiency of
Yuan Shih-kai and his government. They believed in themselves;
they considered that they were accountable only to themselves; they
had fundamentally the monarchic point of view in all departments of
public service.

CHAPTER V
WITH MEN WHO WATCH POLITICS
I found in Peking several good observers of political life, especially
Dr. George Morrison, Mr. B. Lenox Simpson, and Mr. W.H. Donald. All
three had the training in observation and judgment which comes
from writing for responsible papers. Doctor Morrison was gifted with
a memory for details. Thus, he would say: "When I first visited New
York I lived in a little hall room on the third floor of 157 East Twenty-
ninth Street, with a landlady whose name was Simkins, who had
green eyes and a red nose and who charged me two dollars a week
for my room." He delighted in detailing minutely his daily doings. His
sense of infinite detail combined with his remarkable memory made
Doctor Morrison an encyclopædia of information about Chinese
public men. He knew their careers, their foibles and ambitions, and
their personal relationships. Like most British in China he was
animated with a sincere wish to see the Chinese get ahead, and was
distressed by the obstacles which a change for the better
encountered at every step. His own mind was of the analytical and
critical type rather than the constructive, and his greatest services
were rendered as interpreter of events and in giving to public men
and the people a clear idea of the significance of complex Chinese
situations. "I am annoyed," he would say, "because kindly old ladies
persistently identify me with the missionary Morrison who died in
1857."
Mr. Donald's acquaintance with Chinese affairs had come through
close contact with the leaders of new China, with whom he
coöperated intimately in their military and political campaigns. He
had a heart for the Chinese, as if they had been his own people. He
worried about their troubles and fought their fights. Mr. Simpson, the
noted writer who uses the pen name "Putnam Weale," began active
life as a member of the Maritime Customs service, but he soon
resigned, to devote himself wholly to literary work. His masterly
works of political analysis were written in the period of the Russo-
Japanese War, although his best-known book came a little earlier—a
book which long earned him the ill-will and suspicion of many of the
legations in Peking. He himself disavows giving in "Indiscreet Letters
from Peking" a recital of actual facts. He told me: "I wished to give
the psychology of a siege, selecting from the abundant material
significant facts and expressions, but I was not in any sense
attempting to chronicle events and personal actions."
Mr. Simpson has also written a series of novels dealing with Chinese
life. The short stories are the best; the longer ones, while interesting
in description and clever in dialogue, lack that intuitive power of
characterization which is found in the greatest novels, though "Wang
the Ninth" which has recently come from the press is an admirable
study of Chinese psychology and an excellent story as well. Though
his playful and cynical mind often led people to judge that he was
working solely for literary effect, it seemed to me he had a deep
appreciation of what China should mean to the world; he also had
real sympathy for the Chinese, and desired in every way to help
them to realize the great promise of their country and people. As a
conversationalist Mr. Simpson resembled Macaulay, in that his
interludes of silence were infrequent. Notwithstanding the brilliance
of this conversation, luncheon parties of men occasionally seemed to
become restive under a monologue which gave few others a chance
to wedge in a word.
Aside from these three British writers, many other men were
following with intelligent interest the course of events. Bishop
Bashford, gifted with a broad and statesmanlike mind, could always
be trusted to give passing events significant interpretations. Dr.
W.A.P. Martin had then reached an age at which the individual
details of current affairs no longer interested him. His intimate
friend, Dr. Arthur H. Smith—a rarely brilliant extemporaneous
speaker—was full of witty and incisive observations, often deeply
pessimistic, though tempered with a deep friendship for the Chinese
people.
Among the members of the diplomatic corps it was chiefly the
Chinese secretaries who busied themselves, out of professional
interest with the details of Chinese affairs, although they did not in
all cases exhibit a broad grasp of the situation.
Mr. Willys R. Peck, Chinese secretary of the American Legation, born
in China, had a complete mastery of the difficult language of the
country. He could use it with a colloquial ease that contrasted most
pleasantly with the stilted and stiff enunciation of the ordinary
foreigner speaking Chinese. His tact in intercourse with the Chinese
and his judgment on character and political affairs could be relied
on. Mr. Peck took the place of Mr. E.T. Williams, who was called to
Washington as chief of the Far Eastern Division in the State
Department. I considered it great good fortune that there should be
at the Department a man so experienced and so familiar with
Chinese affairs.
It was my good fortune to have as first secretary of the legation a
man exceptionally qualified to cope with the difficulties and
intricacies of Chinese affairs. Not only are these affairs infinitely
complex in themselves, but they have been overlaid through many
decades with a web of foreign treaty provisions, which makes them
still more baffling to the stranger who tackles them. But Mr. J.V.A.
MacMurray, the secretary, was possessed of a keenly analytical,
legally trained mind which was able to cut through the most
hopelessly tangled snarl of local custom, national law, international
agreement, and general equity. Also his interest in things Chinese
was so deep and genuine that his researches were never
perfunctory. The son of a soldier, he had an almost religious devotion
to the idea of public service.
Among the ministers themselves, Sir John Jordan, actual Dean of the
Diplomatic Corps, was through long experience and careful attention
to affairs most fitted to speak with authority on things Chinese. I
was immediately greatly attracted to him and formed with him a
close acquaintanceship. This led to constant coöperation throughout
the difficult years that lay ahead. Sir John was a man of unusually
long and varied experience in China. He came first to the consular
service, then became minister resident in Korea, and his forty years
of official work had given him complete intimacy with Chinese
affairs. Although he speaks Chinese with fluency, in official
interviews and conversations he was always accompanied by his
Chinese secretary and expressed himself formally in English. As a
matter of fact, few diplomats ever use the Chinese language in
official conversation. Because of its infinite shades of meaning it is a
complex and rather unprecise medium, therefore misunderstandings
are more readily avoided through the concurrent use of another
language. While Sir John understood Chinese character and affairs
and was sympathetic with the country in which his life work had
been spent, yet there dwelt in him no spirit of easy compliance.
When he considered it necessary, he could insist so strongly and so
emphatically upon the action he desired taken that the Chinese often
thought of him as harsh and unrelenting: yet they always respected
his essentially English spirit of fairness and straightforwardness.
Other colleagues with whom close relationships grew up were Don
Luis Pastor, the Spanish minister, a gentleman thoroughly American
in his ways and familiar through long residence in Washington with
our affairs; and Count Sforza, the Italian minister. To the latter China
seemed more or less a place of exile; he appeared bored and only
moderately interested in the affairs about him. But his legation—with
Countess Sforza, Madame Varè, whose Lombard beauty did not
suggest her Scotch origin; the Marquise Denti, with her quizzical,
Mona Lisa-like haunting smile, concealing great ennui; and the
entirely girlish and playful Countess Zavagli, a figure which might
have stepped out of a Watteau—was a most charming social centre.
M. Beelaerts van Blokland, the Netherlands minister, a man of clear-
thinking, keen mind, and great reasonableness, and the Austrian
minister, M. von Rosthorn, a profound Chinese scholar, who was then
working on a Chinese history, were men of whom I saw much during
these years.
There were few sinologists in Peking at this time. The successive
Chinese secretaries of the American Legation ranked high in this
respect. Of resident sinologists the most noted, Mr. (later Sir)
Edward Backhouse was a recluse, who never allowed himself to be
seen in the company of other people of a Western race. At the only
period when I had long conversations with him I found him much
disturbed by wild rumours current in the Chinese quarter to which I
could not attach any weight. Others whose knowledge of Chinese
was exceptional were Mr. Sidney Mayers, representative of the
British China Corporation, who had formerly been in the consular
service; Doctor Gattrell, who had acted as secretary of the American
Group; Mr. W.B. Pettus, the director of the Peking Language School;
Mr. Simpson, already mentioned; and several missionaries and
professors at Peking University.
Of the Chinese there were, of course, many with whom I could
profitably discuss the events of the day and gather suggestions and
interpretations of value. With all these men I conversed upon
events, relying for my information not on rumours or reports, but on
the facts which I could learn through the men directly concerned; or
through others well informed. The opinion which I formed from such
various sources about the political condition of China at this time,
the spring of 1914, may be stated as follows:
The political authority of the Central Government in China rested
upon military organization. Other sources of authority, such as
customary submission on the one hand, and the support based upon
the intelligent coöperation of all classes of citizens in the
achievement of the purposes of government in accordance with
public opinion on the other, were only of secondary influence. It was
therefore important to inquire whether the military power was so
organized as to afford a stabilizing support to public authority. This
did not seem to be the case.
In the first place, the existence of a large army of doubtful efficiency
was in itself an evil, considering the then limited resources of the
Chinese State, and the fact that any attempt to reduce the military
forces to more reasonable dimensions met with stubborn opposition.
Whenever troops were disbanded they showed no tendency to
return to useful occupations: the ex-soldiers desired only to continue
to live upon the country, and, no longer serving the established
authority, they joined bandit gangs, rendering the interior of the
majority of the provinces insecure.
The weakness of the army was strikingly demonstrated whenever an
attempt was made to use it to defend the country against either
external or internal enemies. In the campaign against the Mongols,
the Chinese troops had failed entirely; even within the country itself,
this huge army was not able to insure the fulfilment of that first duty
of a government—the protection of the lives and property of its
citizens.
In the provinces of Honan and Hupei brigands, led by a person
known as "White Wolf," had for months been terrifying the
population; ravaging the countryside; sacking walled cities;
murdering and outraging the population; and in a number of
instances had killed foreigners. Thus far the army had been
powerless to suppress these brigands; in fact, evidence was at hand
that the troops had repeatedly been so lax and remiss that the only
explanation of their conduct would seem to lie in a secret connivance
at the brigandage, and lack of coöperation among the commanders
of the troops.
As the authority of the Central Government was commensurate with
its control over the tutuhs (tuchuns), or military governors, the
attitude of the latter toward the President had to be carefully
watched; and it was causing no small uneasiness that there did not
seem to be perfect agreement among these pillars of authority in the
various provinces; thus, friction had recently been reported between
General Tuan Chi-jui, the Minister of War, who was the acting tutuh
of Hupei, and General Feng Kuo-chang, the tutuh of Kiangsu, two of
the most powerful supporters of the President.
None of the provinces of China, during the preceding three months,
had been free from brigandage, attempted rebellion, troubles
resulting from the disbanding of troops, and local riots. Conditions
were worst in the provinces of Honan and Hupei, in which the bands
of "White Wolf" are operating.
These bands had assumed a distinctly anti-foreign attitude. In Kansu
there were constant Mohammedan uprisings, related to the open
rebellion in Tibet and Mongolia. Bandit movements had also
occurred in the provinces of Shansi, Shensi, Szechuan (super-added
to revolts of the troops), Anhui, Kiangsi, Hunan, Fukien, Kweichow,
Yunnan, and Kwangtung. Chekiang, Kwangsi, Shantung, and Chihli
had been the least molested.
While the Government had been unable to fulfil its duty of protecting
the lives and property of its citizens, it was also unable to exercise
the elementary power of providing, through taxation, the means for
its own support. The maintenance of the army had eaten up the
available means and it had not been possible to secure sufficient
money from the provinces to meet the ordinary running expenses of
the Central Government. The remarkable resisting power of China is
illustrated by the fact that, notwithstanding the conditions of
rebellion and political unrest which characterized the year 1913,
general commerce remained so active that the collections of the
Customs and of the Salt Gabelle exceeded those of any previous
year. These two sources of revenue were sufficient to provide for the
interest payments and amortization of the long-term foreign loans
then contracted; their administration, under foreign control, had
secured to the Central Government the funds to meet these
obligations and to avoid open bankruptcy.
All other forms of taxation were disorganized. The collection of the
land tax was in many places discontinued; records had been
destroyed, or the population took an attitude hostile to its collection.
The proceeds of the likin, as far as collected, were retained for
provincial use. Altogether, the Central Government received from the
provinces not more than 10 per cent. of the estimated income from
these sources under the last Imperial Budget for 1912.
Meanwhile, the Central Government had been living from hand to
mouth, using the proceeds of foreign loans for administrative
purposes, and was kept going by taking cash advances upon foreign
loan contracts made for furnishing materials and for various
concessions. In this way the future had been discounted to a
dangerous extent.
The weakness of the financial administration of the Government was
found in all other branches of its activities. There was little evidence
of constructive capacity.
In the ministries and departments of the Central Government the
greatest disorganization was apparent. In dealing with technical
questions the officials were often entirely at sea, not being trained
themselves in these matters, nor willing to make real use of the
many advisers who were engaged by the Government; there was no
adequate system of accounting; the departmental records were not
well kept; frequently the existence of a transaction was not known
to the officials most nearly concerned; past transactions, fully
consummated, had been forgotten; there was no centralization of
governmental knowledge; so a great deal of the public business was
transacted in a haphazard way, leading to a helpless opportunism of
doing the things most strongly urged and of grasping at small
immediate advantages at the cost of engagements long to be
regretted.
Ambitious schemes of general policy had been brought up, and
elaborate regulations promulgated, to all of which little attention was
subsequently paid. On the other hand, there had scarcely been one
single concrete result obtained in constructive work.
The metropolitan Province of Chihli had been quiet and peaceful
since the outbreak of 1912. The Government here certainly had
sufficient authority to introduce constructive reforms, and the
general conditions for such action in this province had been relatively
most favourable. But not even in the case of Chihli Province had the
taxation system been rendered efficient; no efficient auditing
methods had been introduced in practice, although systems of
auditing control had been promulgated; educational institutions had
been allowed to run down: in short, under the most favourable
conditions, no constructive work had been accomplished.
Nearly all attempts to do something of a constructive nature had
been immediately associated with foreign loans, often involving a
cash advance to the Government. It might, of course, be said that
the great difficulty of the Chinese Government was exactly that it
lacked the funds for carrying out constructive work; and that,
therefore, only such lines of improvement could be followed for
which it had been possible to secure foreign loans.
This, however, was only partly true. A great many reforms could
have been accomplished without the increase of expenditure;
indeed, they would have resulted in a reduction of outlay. The fact
seemed to be that the Central Government, realizing how important
foreign financial support had been to it during the Revolution of
1913, was anxious to secure more and more funds from abroad
without counting the ultimate cost.
An opportunity for obtaining from abroad large sums of money, far
beyond any amount ever before dealt with by Chinese officials and
merchants, in itself had an unsettling effect upon methods of public
business. The old caution and economy, which kept the public debt
within narrow limits, had given way to a readiness to obtain funds
from abroad in enormous amounts, without apparently the
realization of the burden imposed upon China by way of the
necessity of return in the future through the results of labour and
sacrifice of millions of people.
Nor had the old system, under which the inadequate salaries of
officials had ordinarily to be supplemented by extraneous illicit gains,
given way to a more efficient and business-like organization of the
public service under which officials would be able to devote their
undivided attention to the accomplishment of their regular allotted
tasks without spending their energy in contriving additional means of
obtaining income.
In the case of certain classes of officials, the Government had
endeavoured to place their salaries at a figure sufficient to render
them independent of these practices; but the resources of the
Government were not adequate to enable it at once to place the
entire public service upon a basis of individual independence. It was
also true that certain among the closest advisers of the President
were commonly believed to have used their positions for the purpose
of accumulating vast private fortunes—a belief which, whether
justified or not, must be counted with in determining the standing of
the Government as enjoyed throughout the country.
Thus the old hostility and lack of confidence, which formerly
characterized the relations between merchants and officials,
continued under the new system.
Through the dissolution of the Parliament, the Government had
destroyed an organ which might, in the course of time, have
established relations of confidence between the great middle class of
China and the Government.
As a statesman, the President emphasized in the first place the
requirements of order and of authority. To him it seemed that
Parliament, with its free discussion, with its opportunity for forming
political factions, opposing the men in authority, stood in the way of
the establishment of a lasting system of legal order. He, therefore,
dissolved first the national parliament, then the assemblies of the
provinces, and finally the local self-governing bodies.
In each case inefficiency was justly complained of. The men in the
parliamentary bodies had often been self-seeking, factional, and
unpractical. But the President seemed to have no perception of the
true value of parliamentary action as a basis of public authority; he
considered opposition to the Government synonymous with
opposition to lawful authority. And in his ideas upon the
reconstitution of Parliament, as far as they had been announced,
two main principles dominated: first, that only men of mature
experience and of conservative ideas should be selected; and
secondly, that the activities of Parliament should be confined to
discussing and giving advice upon policies already determined upon
by the Administration.

CHAPTER VI
CHINA OF MERCHANT-ADVENTURERS
The past may become in the human present more alive than ever.
John Richard Green finds in the old records of the guilds of Berwick
an enactment "that where many bodies are found side by side in one
place they may become one, and have one will, and in the dealings
of one with another have a strong and hearty love." In the history of
the Saxons, Edwin of Northumbria "caused stakes to be fixed in the
highways where he had seen a clear spring," and "brazen dishes
were chained to them, to refresh the weary sojourner, whose
fatigues Edwin had himself experienced." These things shine with
the sun, and enlighten our work to-day. The Maine woodsman sits
on a stump whose rings number centuries of growth. When Chinese
children came to play with our children at the Legation, I was always
impressed by their dignity of demeanour and their observance of the
courtesies while their elders were present. On the faces of these
little heirs of the Holy Duke the composure of eighty generations of
culture and traditions sat freshly; and it by no means alloyed their
delight, which was unstinted, in American toys and dolls.
This transmutation of the old into new life is seen everywhere in
China. The day comes every morning fresh as a flower. But we know
it is old; it is an ancient day, white-clad and beautiful as the stars.
The Chinese peasant thrusts his stick of a plough many eons deep
into his ancestral soil. In north China it is loess soil, the most fertile
on the globe, brought down from the mountains for millenniums and
deposited to depths of from twenty to thirty feet. When there are no
floods the rain sinks deeply into this porous soil, meets the moisture
retained below, and draws up therefrom the inorganic salts that are
held dissolved. So its fertility is inexhaustible.
But floods do come, as they have come unchecked for ages. In the
Hwai River region, with all this natural richness underfoot, the
people are poor, weak, famine-stricken, living in aggregations of
shabby hovels that are periodically swept away. Its crops, which
should normally be six in three years, average but two and three.
This region is only one example of several prodigious and extensive
valleys choked with fertility, yet with famine and pestilence raging
through them, cursed as they are by inundations that might be
completely checked at little engineering cost. With these regions
reclaimed and the border provinces colonized, China's crops alone
would support double her present population. The people of the
Hwai region, secure and affluent, might be easily increased by
twenty million living heirs of a fifty-centuries-old civilization. Indeed,
a little vision and scientific application would transform China.
With what the ages have produced for the West—the old guild spirit
reviving, if you please, in the modern trust—the West can meet the
East. The true ministers and ambassadors to China are the
merchant-adventurers of the Western nations, bearing their goods,
their steel and tools, their unique engineering skill and works. It was
not for what the entrepreneurs "could get out of" China, nor yet for
what China could get out of us, that my policy as American minister
was directed to this complementary meeting of two civilizations. It
was because I saw millions perishing wretchedly whose birthright in
the higher arts and amenities of living is at least as rich as our own
—perishing for lack of an organizing skill which it is the province of
the Western peoples to supply. It was because I knew, with their
admirable family life and local democratic institutions, it needed only
trunk-line railways to link together these close-set communities,
comprising one quarter of the earth's population, into as admirable a
central democracy.
But how the West was then meeting the East came home to me on
the second morning of my stay in Peking. I entered the breakfast
room, where I found Doctor Hornbeck in a state of annoyance. He
handed me the morning copy of the Journal de Peking, a sheet
published in French and known to be subservient to Russian and
French political interests from which it got subventions. The article in
question was a scurrilous attack on me personally, and on American
action in China generally.
A Chinese journal in Shanghai had published a laudatory article in
which had been cited extracts from my published books. One of
these, taken from "World Politics," had happened to speak of French
subserviency to Russian policy in the Far East. The French journal
repeated these expressions as if they had been given out by me in
an interview upon arriving in China. As they were in fact taken from
books published more than ten years before, which had run the
gauntlet of French critical journals without ever having been taken
as hostile to France, I did not have any reason to worry, and the
fume and fury of the local journal rather amused me than otherwise.
I could, however, not help noting the temper of these attacks, their
bitterness and the utter rashness and lack of inquiry with which the
charges were made. It gave me early warning, considering its gross
lack of courtesy to a newcomer, who had entered the field in a spirit
friendly to all, as to what might be expected from some of our
friendly rivals. When several years later one of the ministers whose
legation stood sponsor for this sheet approached me with a request
to use my influence to suppress a Chinese paper which had attacked
him, I regretted that it was not in my power to be of assistance.
The significance of the article lay of course in its attack upon
American policy, which was characterized as one of "bluff", and
which charged the United States with assuming a tone of superior
virtue in criticising others, and, while loudly professing friendship for
the Chinese, failing to shoulder any part of the responsibility in
actual affairs. The Y.M.C.A. and the Standard Oil Company were
coupled together as twin instruments of a nefarious and hypocritical
policy.
The China Press, the American newspaper of Shanghai, pointed out
that the attack of the French paper indicated what the American
minister would have to face, and observed that the success or failure
of his diplomatic mission must depend upon the readiness of the
American Government to take an active part in the rehabilitation of
China. Should America play the rôle of an altruistic but impotent
friend, and of a captious critic of the other powers, it could gain
neither sympathy nor respect.
The American Government was at this time severely criticised for its
failure to endorse the Six-Power Consortium; it was urged that the
Administration had sacrificed the best opportunity for bringing
American goodwill to bear on Chinese public affairs, by exercising a
moderating and friendly influence in the council of the great powers.
On the other hand, it ought to be considered that a new
administration, when confronted with the sudden proposal that it
give exclusive support to one special group of banks, might well
hesitate, particularly in view of the fact that the group in this case
consisted of only four New York houses. An earlier administration
had answered such an inquiry in a similar way. Considering the
merits of the question from the point of view of China, the action
might present itself in the light of a refusal to join with others in
placing upon the young republic the fetters of foreign financial
control. Moreover, the proceeds of the Reorganization Loan were
actually not used for the benefit of the Chinese people, but on the
contrary this financial support fastened the personal authority of
Yuan Shih-kai on the country and enabled him to carry on a
successful fight against parliament. That body never gave its
approval to the loan.
From my conversations with President Wilson before departing for
my post I had formed the conclusion that the President realized that
as America had withdrawn from a coöperative effort to assist in the
development of China, it was incumbent upon her to do her share
independently and to give specific moral and financial assistance; in
fact, I received the President's assurance of active support for
constructive work in China. In his conversation he dwelt, however,
more on the educational side and on political example and moral
encouragement, than on the matter of finance and commerce.
It cannot be doubted that in China the withdrawal of the United
States from the Consortium was interpreted as an act of friendship
by all groups with the exception of that which was in control of the
Government at the time, which would have preferred to have the
United States at the council table of the Consortium Powers. Those
opposed to the Government were particularly strong in their
commendation of our refusal to join in an agreement which to them
seemed far from beneficial to China. But all parties without
exception drew the conclusion that the friendly action of the United
States, which had now rejected the method of international
coöperation, would continue independently of the others. In view of
the power and resources of the United States, it was hoped that
there would be a greater participation by the United States in
Chinese industrial and commercial affairs, as well as in
administrative loans, than had hitherto existed.
It is apparent from all this that the American position in China was
not free from difficulties. The covert antagonism of the five
Consortium Powers was continuous. We were isolated, and would be
judged by what we could do by ourselves. Should it turn out that we
had nothing to offer but sage advice, the strictures of our rivals
might in time come to carry a certain amount of conviction.
So far as the Americans themselves were concerned, they were
thoroughly discouraged, and everywhere talked as if it were all up
with American enterprise in China. When I said: "No, it is only just
beginning," polite incredulity was the best I could expect. It is very
probable that the Americans who were so downcast saw in the
appointment of a literary and university man as minister to China an
additional indication that there was to be no special encouragement
given to American economic enterprise. Having long been familiar
with the underlying facts of the Far Eastern situation, I had entirely
made up my mind on the primary importance of American
participation in the industrial and economic development of China.
No one could have appreciated more highly than I did the important
work done by American missionaries, teachers, and medical men, in
bringing to China a conception of Western learning and life. But if
China should have to rely entirely on other nations for active support
in the modern development of her industries and resources, then our
position in the eyes of the Chinese nation could never come up to
the opportunities which Nature had given us through our geographic
position and our industrial strength.
I had long discarded any narrow interpretation of diplomacy, but
even if I had adhered to the principle that the diplomat must busy
himself only with political matters, I should have had to admit that in