An American Diplomat in China

AN AMERICAN DIPLOMAT
IN CHINA

WRITINGS OF PAUL S. REINSCH

The Common Law in the Early American Colonies, 1899

World Politics at the End of the Nineteenth Century As Influenced by The Oriental Situation, 1900

Colonial Government, 1902

Colonial Administration, 1905

American Legislatures and Legislative Methods, 1907

Intellectual Currents in the Far East, 1911

International Unions, 1911

Essentials of Government, 1920
(Published in Chinese)

Secret Diplomacy, 1921

AN AMERICAN DIPLOMAT
IN CHINA

BY

PAUL S. REINSCH

AMERICAN MINISTER TO CHINA
1913-1919

GARDEN CITY, N.Y., AND TORONTO

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1922

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

COPYRIGHT, 1921, 1922, BY ASIA PUBLISHING COMPANY IN THE
UNITED STATES AND ENGLAND. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y.
First Edition

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

Through recent developments China has been put in the forefront of international interest. The world is beginning to have an idea of its importance. Those who have long known it, who have given attention to its traditions and the sources of its social and industrial strength, have the conviction that China will become a factor of the first magnitude in the composition of the world of the twentieth century. They have penetrated beyond the idea that China is a land of topsy-turvy, the main function of which is to amuse the outsider with unexpected social customs, and which, from a political point of view, is in a state bordering upon chaos. When we ask ourselves what are the elements which may constitute China's contribution to the future civilization of the world, what are the characteristics which render her civilization significant to all of us, we enter upon a subject that would in itself require a volume merely to present in outline. From the point of view of social action, there is the widely diffused sense of popular equity which has enabled Chinese society for these many centuries to govern itself, to maintain property rights, personal honour and dignity without recourse to written law or set tribunals, chiefly through an informal enforcement by society itself acting through many agencies, of that underlying sense of proportion and rightness which lives in the hearts of the people. From the point of view of economic life, China presents the picture of a society in which work has not been robbed of its joy, in which the satisfaction of seeing the product of industry grow in the hands of the craftsman still forms the chief reward of a labour performed with patient toil but without heartbreaking drudgery. From the point of view of social organization, China forms an extremely intricate organism in which the specific relationship between definite individuals counts far more than any general principles or ideas. Loyalty, piety, a sense of fitness give meaning to the ceremonial of Chinese social life, which is more than etiquette as a mere ornament of social intercourse in that it bodies forth in visible form as every-day observances, the relations and duties upon which society rests. From the point of view of art, China stands for a refinement of quality which attests the loving devotion of generations to the idea of a perfect product; in the representative arts, calmness of perception has enabled the Chinese to set a model for the artistic reproduction of the environments of human life. In their conception of policy and world position, the Chinese people have ever shown a readiness to base any claim to ascendancy upon inherent excellence and virtue. They have not imposed upon their neighbours any artificial authority, though they have proudly received the homage and admiration due their noble culture.

At this time, when the Far Eastern question is the chief subject-matter of international conferences and negotiations, China stands before the world in the eyes of those who really know her, not as a bankrupt pleader for indulgence and assistance, but as a great unit of human tradition and force which, heretofore somewhat over-disdainful of the things through which other nations had won power and preference and mechanical mastery, has lived a trifle carelessly in the assurance that real strength must rest on inner virtue; China has made no use of the arts of self-advertisement, but has felt within her the consciousness of a great human force that must ultimately prevail over petty intrigue and forceful aggression. The secular persistence of Chinese civilization has given to the Chinese an inner strength and confidence which make them bear up even when the aggressiveness of nations more effectively organized for attack seems to render their position well-nigh desperate. Can the world fail to realize that if this vast society can continue to live according to its traditions of peace and useful industry instead of being made the battleground of contending Imperial interests, the peace of the world will be more truly advanced than it may be by any covenants of formal contrivance? Declarations, treaties, and leagues are all useful instruments, but unless the nations agree without afterthought to respect the life and civilization of China, all professions of world betterment would be belied in fact. If China is to be looked upon as material for the imperialist policies of others, peace conferences will discuss and resolve in vain.

During the six years of my work in China I was constantly surrounded by the evidences of the transition of Chinese life to new methods and aims. In all its complex phases this enormous transformation passed in review before my eyes, in all its deep significance, not only for China and the Far East, but for the whole world. It was this that made life and work in China at this time so intensely fascinating. A new form of government had been adopted. As I represented the Republic upon which it had been largely modeled, whose spirit the Chinese were anxious to follow, it fell to me to counsel with Chinese leaders as if I had been one of their number. The experience of a great American commonwealth which had itself successfully endeavoured to raise its organization to a higher plane was of unending assistance to me in enabling me to see the Chinese problems as part of what right-thinking men were struggling for throughout the world. The most discouraging feature was, however, that the needs of China so often took the form of emergencies in which it seemed futile to plan at long range, in which immediate help was necessary. Where one was coöperating with a group of men beset by overpowering difficulties of the moment, it often seemed academic even to think of the general improvement of political and economic organization, over a longer range of time. The old elements of the Imperial régime, the traditional methods of basing authority on something from above, the purely personal conception of politics with the corruption incident upon the idea that members of clans must take care of each other—which formerly was a virtue—all were the sources of the outstanding difficulties that jutted everywhere into the plans for a more highly and efficiently organized commonwealth. But it was a pleasure to see the growing manifestation of a commonwealth spirit, the organization of public opinion, and the clearer vision of the demands of public service. Even among the officials the idea that the Government was merely a taxing and office-holding organization was giving way, especially among the younger men, to a desire that the functions of government should be used for developmental purposes, in helping the people towards better methods in agriculture and industry, in encouraging improved communications and public works of many kinds.

International action as seen from Peking during this period did not have many reassuring qualities. In most cases it was based upon a desire to lose no technical advantage of position; to yield not a whit, no matter what general benefit might result through mutual concessions. Each one was jealously guarding his position in which he had advanced step by step. Some were willing to make common cause with others in things that would not always commend themselves to a sense of equity, in order that they might take still another step forward. During the major part of this period one power employed every device of intrigue, intimidation, corruption, and force in order to gain a position for itself in flagrant disregard of the rights of the Chinese people itself, and in oblivion of the rights of others.

As to American policy, the difficulties which I encountered arose from the fact that a great deal was expected of a country so powerful, which had declared and always pursued a policy so just to China. Chinese goodwill and confidence, and the real friendship of the Chinese people toward America certainly tended to make easier any task America might be ready to undertake. But America had no political aims and desired to abstain particularly from anything verging on political interference, even in behalf of those principles we so thoroughly believe in. American relationships to China depended not on governmental action, but on a spontaneous coöperation between the two peoples in matters of education, commerce, and industry.

Infinitely complex as were the questions of Chinese internal affairs and of the privileges and desires of the various powers, yet to my mind it was not a difficult problem to see what should be done in order to put matters on a sound foundation. I had learned to have great confidence in the ability of the Chinese to manage their own affairs when let alone, particularly in commerce and industry.

That was the first desideratum, to secure for them immunity from the constant interference, open and secret, on the part of foreign interests desirous of confusing Chinese affairs and drawing advantage from such confusion. So far as American diplomatic action was concerned, its essential task was to prevent such interference, and to see to it that China could not be closed even by those indirect methods which often accompany the most vociferous, ardent declarations in favour of Chinese independence and sovereignty. We therefore had to keep a close watch and to resist in specific detail any and all of those innumerable efforts on the part of others to secure and fortify a position of privilege. That was the negative side of our action. The positive side, however, was entirely non-political. Americans sought no position of tutordom or control. Only upon the free and spontaneous invitation of the Chinese would they come to counsel and assist.

The important thing was that Americans should continue to take a hand in the education of China and the upbuilding of Chinese business and enterprise. They had done this in the past, and would do it in the future in the spirit of free coöperation, without desire to exercise a tutelage over others, always rejoicing in any progress the Chinese themselves made. Such activities must continue and increase. Sound action in business and constructive work in industry should be America's contribution to the solution of the specific difficulties of China. The Chinese people were discouraged, confused, disillusioned; but every centre, no matter how small, from which radiate sound influences in education and business, is a source of strength and progress. If Americans could be stopped from doing these things, or impeded and obstructed in them, then there would nothing further remain worth while for Americans to do. But if they could organize enterprises, great and small, they would in the most direct and effective manner give the encouragement and organizing impulse which China needed so urgently. So the simple principle of American action in China is this: By doing things in themselves worth while, Americans will contribute most to the true liberation of the Chinese people.

Never has one nation had a greater opportunity to act as counsellor and friend to another and to help a vast and lovable people to realize its striving for a better life. Coöperation freely sought, unconstrained, spontaneous desire to model on institutions and methods which are admired—that is the only way in which nations may mutually influence each other without the coercion of political power and the cunning of intrigue. That is a feeling which has existed in the hearts of the Chinese toward America. The American people does not yet realize what a treasure it possesses in this confidence.

[PART I]

OLD CHINA AND THE
NEW REPUBLIC

[CHAPTER I]

THE DICTATOR-PRESIDENT OF CHINA

"My opponents are disloyal. They would pull down my government." He who spoke was cordial in his manner as he thus off handedly epitomized his theory of government.

Yuan Shih-kai, President of the Chinese Republic, was short of stature and thickset; but his expressive face, his quick gestures, his powerful neck and bullet head, gave him the appearance of great energy. His eyes, which were fine and clear, alive with interest and mobile, were always brightly alert. They fixed themselves on the visitor with keen penetration, yet never seemed hostile; they were full always of keen interest. These eyes of his revealed how readily he followed—or usually anticipated—the trend of the conversation, though he listened with close attention, seemingly bringing his judgment to bear on each new detail. Frenchmen saw in him a resemblance to Clemenceau; and this is born out by his portrait which appears on the Chinese dollar. In stature, facial expression, shape of head, contour of features as well as in the manner of wearing his moustache, he did greatly resemble the Tiger.

I had noted these things when I was first presented to the President, and I had felt also the almost ruthless power of the man. Republican in title he was, but an autocrat at heart. All the old glittering trappings of the empire he had preserved. Even the Chief of the Military Department of the President's household, General Yin Chang, whom Yuan had sent to fetch me in Imperial splendour, is a Manchu and former Imperial commander. His one foreign language significantly enough was German which he acquired when he was minister in Berlin. I had passed between files of the huge guardsmen of Yuan Shih-kai, who had Frederick the Great's fondness for tall men; and I found him in the showy palace of the great Empress Dowager, standing in the main throne hall to receive me. He was flanked by thirty generals of his household, extended in wings at both sides of him, and their uniforms made it a most impressive scene.

But that was an occasion of state. Later, at a more informal interview, accompanied only by Mr. Williams, secretary of the legation and Mr. Peck, the Chinese secretary, observed Yuan's character more fully. He had just expelled from parliament the democratic party (Kuo Min Tang); then he had summarily dismissed the Parliament itself. Feeling, perhaps, a possible loss of American goodwill he had sent for me to explain his action.

"It was not a good parliament, for it was made up largely of inexperienced theorists and young politicians," he began. "They wished to meddle with the Government as well as to legislate on all matters. Their real function was to adopt a permanent constitution for the Republic, but they made no headway with that." And with much truth he added: "Our traditions are very different from your Western ones and our affairs are very complex. We cannot safely apply your abstract ideas of policy."

Of his own work of stirring up, through emissaries, internal and partisan controversies which prevented the new parliament from effectively organizing, Yuan of course omitted to speak. Moreover, he said little of the possibility of more closely coördinating the executive and the legislative branches; so while he avowed his desire to have a constitution forthwith, and to reconstitute Parliament by more careful selections under a new electoral law, I found myself thinking of his own career. His personal rule, his unscrupulous advancement to power, with the incidental corruption and cold-blooded executions that marked it, and his bitter personal feeling against all political opponents—these were not qualities that make for stable parliamentary government, which depends on allowing other people frankly to advocate their opinions in the effort to gain adherents enough to succeed in turn to political power. The failure to understand this basic principle of democracy is the vice of Chinese politics.

"As you see," Yuan beamed eagerly, "the Chinese Republic is a very young baby. It must be nursed and kept from taking strong meat or potent medicines like those prescribed by foreign doctors." This metaphor he repeated with relish, his eyes sparkling as they sought mine and those of the other listeners to get their expressions of assent or reserve.

A young baby indeed and childishly cared for! Here, for example, is a decree published by Yuan Shih-kai on March 8, 1915. It indicates how faith in his republicanism was penetrating to remote regions, and how such faith was rewarded by him:

"Ihsihaishun, Prince of the Koersin Banner, reported through the Board for Mongolia and Tibet that Kuanchuk-chuaimupal, Hutukhtu of the Banner, has led his followers to support the cause of the Republic and requested that the said Hutukhtu be rewarded for his good sentiments. The said Hutukhtu led his followers and vowed allegiance to the Republic, which action shows that he clearly understands the good cause. He is hereby allowed to ride in a yellow canopied carriage to show our appreciation."

This rather naïve emphasis on externals and on display is born of the old imperialism, a more significant feature of Chinese political life than it may seem. It colours most of the public ceremonies in China. The state carriage which the President had sent to convey me to his official residence in the Imperial City for the presentation of my credentials, on November 17th, was highly ornate, enamelled in blue with gold decorations. It was drawn by eight horses, with a cavalry escort sent by the President and my own guard of mounted marines; the legation staff of secretaries and attachés accompanied me in other carriages.

Thus in an old Imperial barouche and with an ex-Imperial military officer, General Yin, at my side, I rolled on toward the abode of the republican chief magistrate. We alighted at the monumental gate of an enclosure that surrounds the lovely South Lake in the western part of the Imperial City. On an island within this lake arose, tier above tier, and roofed with bright tiles of blue and yellow, the palace assigned by the Empress Dowager to Emperor Kwang Hsu; for long years, until death took him, it was his abode in semi-captivity. This palace was now the home of President Yuan.

The remote origin of its buildings, their exquisite forms and brilliant colouring, as contrasted with the sombreness of the lake at that season, and the stirring events of which they have been the scene, cannot fail to impress the visitor as he slowly glides across the Imperial lake in the old-fashioned boat, with its formal little cabin, curtained and upholstered, and with its lateral planks, up and down which pass the men who propel the boat with long poles.

Arrived at the palace, everything recalled the colourful court life so recently departed. I was greeted by the master of ceremonies, Mr. Lu Cheng-hsiang, and his associate, Mr. Alfred Sze, later Chinese minister at London and Washington. The former soon after became Minister for Foreign Affairs, while Mr. Sze was originally sent as minister to England. These gentlemen escorted me through a series of courts and halls, all spacious and impressive, until we reached the old Imperial library, a very jewel of architecture in this remarkable Eastern world of beauty. The library faces on a clear and deep pool round which are grouped the court theatre and various throne rooms and festival halls; all quiet and secluded—a charming place for distinguished entertainments. The rustle of heavy silks, the play of iridescent colour, the echoes of song and lute from the theatre—all that exquisite oriental refinement still seems to linger.

The library itself is the choicest of all these apartments. The perfect sense of proportion expressed in the architecture, the quiet reserve in all its decorations, the living literary reminiscence in the verses written on the paper panels by the Imperial hand, all testify to a most fastidious taste.

Here we rested for a few minutes while word was carried to the President, who was to receive my credentials. Then followed our walk between the files of the huge guardsmen, our entrance to the large audience chamber in the pretentious modern structure erected by the Empress Dowager, and the presentation to Yuan Shih-kai, as he stood in the centre, flanked by his generals.

I was formally presented to the President by Mr. Sun Pao-chi, Minister of Foreign Affairs; and Dr. Wellington Koo translated my brief address and the President's reply.

A military dictatorship had succeeded the old imperialism, that was all. Yuan had made his reputation and gained his power as a military commander. Yet there was about him nothing of the adventurer, nor any suggestion of the field of battle. He seemed now to be an administrator rather than a military captain. Certainly he had won power through infinite patience, great knowledge of men, political insight, and, above all, through playing always a safe if unscrupulous game.

What is meant by governing in a republic he could not know. Without high literary culture, although with a mind trained and well informed, he had not seen foreign countries, nor had he any knowledge of foreign languages. Therefore, he could have only a remote and vague notion of the foreign institutions which China at this time was beginning to imitate. He had no real knowledge or conception of the commonwealth principle of government, nor of the true use and function of a parliament, and particularly of a parliamentary opposition. He merely accepted these as necessary evils to be held within as narrow limits as possible.

During the two and a half years from my coming to Peking until the time of his death, Yuan Shih-kai left the enclosure of his palace only twice. This reminds me of the American, with an introduction from the State Department, who wired me from Shanghai asking me to arrange for him to take a moving picture of Yuan "proceeding from his White House to his Capitol." This enterprising Yankee would have had plenty of time to meditate on the difference between oriental political customs and our own if he had waited for Yuan Shih-kai to "proceed" from his political hermitage. The President's seclusion was usually attributed to fear of assassination, but if such fear was present in his mind, as well it might have been, there was undoubtedly also the idea, taken over from the Empire, that the holder of the highest political power should not appear in public except on very unusual occasions.

When he received me informally, he doffed the uniform of state and always wore a long Chinese coat. He had retained the distinction and refinement of Chinese manners, with a few additions from the West, such as shaking hands. His cue he had abandoned in 1912, when he decided to become President of the Republic. In the building which is now the Foreign Office and where he was then residing, Yuan asked Admiral Tsai Ting-kan whether his entry into the new era should not be outwardly expressed by shedding the traditional adornment of the head which though once a sign of bondage had become an emblem of nationality. When Admiral Tsai advised strongly in favour of it, Yuan sent for a big pair of scissors, and said to him: "It is your advice. You carry it out." The Admiral, with a vigorous clip, transformed Yuan into a modern man.

But inwardly Yuan Shih-kai was not much changed thereby.

[CHAPTER II]

CHINA OF MANY PERSONS

Yuan Shih-kai, a ruler whose power was personal, whose theories of government were those of an absolute monarch, who believed that in himself lay the hope of his people; China itself a nation of individualists, among whom there was as yet no unifying national sense, no inbred love of country, no traditions of personal responsibility toward their government, no sense that they themselves shared in the making of the laws which ordered their lives—these, I think, were the first clear impressions I had of the land to which I came as envoy in the early days of the Republic.

Even the rivers and cities through which we passed on our way to Peking seemed to deepen this feeling for me. The houseboats jammed together in the harbour at Shanghai visualized it. Each of these boats sheltered a family, who lived and moved and had their being, for the most part, on its narrow decks. Each family was quite independent of the people on the next boat. Each was immersed in the stern business of earning bread. These houseboat people (so it seemed) had little in common with each other, little in common with the life of the cities and villages which they regularly visited. As a class they lived apart; and each family was, for most of the time, isolated from the others. Their life, I thought, was the civilization of China in miniature. Of course such a figure applies only roughly. I mean merely to suggest that the population of this vast country is not a homogeneous one in a political sense. The unit of society is—as it has been for many centuries—the family, not the state. This is changing now, and changing rapidly. The seeds of democracy found fertile soil in China; but a civilization which has been shaping itself through eighty centuries cannot be too abruptly attacked. China is, after all, an ancient monarchy upon which the republican form of government was rather suddenly imposed. It is still in the period of adjustment. Such at least were my reactions as we ascended the Hwang-pu River, on that October day in 1913, and drew into the harbour basin which lies at the centre of Shanghai.

In one of the hotels of the city we found the "Saturday Lunch Club" in session. I was not a little surprised that this mid-day gastronomic forum, which had but lately come into vogue in America, had become so thoroughly acclimated in this distant port. But despite the many nationalities represented at this international gathering, the language was English. As to dress, many of the Chinese at the luncheon preferred their dignified, long-flowing robes to Western coats and trousers.

Dr. Wu Ting-fang was present in Chinese costume and a little purple skull cap, and we sat down to talk together. He related the moves made by President Yuan against the democratic party (Kuo Min Tang) in parliament and said: "Yuan Shih-kai's sole aim is to get rid of parliament. He has no conception of free government, is entirely a man of personal authority. The air of absolutism surrounds him. Beware," Dr. Wu admonished, "when you get behind those high walls of Peking. The atmosphere is stagnant. It seems to overcome men and make them reactionary. Nobody seems to resist that power!"

Later I was accosted on a momentous matter by an American missionary. He was not affiliated with any missionary society, but had organized a so-called International Institute for a Mission among the Higher Classes. His mien betrayed overburdening care, ominous presentiment, and he said he had already submitted a grave matter to the Department of State. It concerned the Saturday Lunch Club. Somewhat too precipitately I spoke with gratification of its apparent success. "But, sir," he interposed, "it was established and set in motion by the consul-general!"

As still I could not see wherein the difficulty lay, my visitor became emphatic.

"Do you not realize, sir, that my institute was established to bring the different nationalities together, and that the formation of such a club should have been left to me?"

When I expressed my feeling that there was no end of work to be done in the world in establishing relationships of goodwill; that every accomplishment of this kind was to be received with gratitude, he gave me up. I had thought, at first, that he was about to charge the consul-general, at the very least, with embezzlement.

That afternoon I inspected the student battalion of St. John's University. This institution is modern, affiliated with the Episcopalian Church, and many of its alumni are distinguished in public life as well as in industrial enterprise and commerce. Of these I need only mention Dr. W.W. Yen, Dr. Wellington Koo, Dr. Alfred Sze, and Dr. Wang Chung-hui, later Chief Justice of China. Dr. Hawks Pott, the president, introduced me to the assembled students as an old friend of China. There I met Dr. Pott's wife, a Chinese lady, and several of their daughters and sons, two of whom later fought in the Great War.

A newspaper reporter brought me back abruptly to local matters. He was the first to interview me in China. "Will you remove the American marines," he queried, "from the Chienmen Tower?"

A disturbing question! I was cautious, as I had not even known there were marines posted on that ancient tower. Whether they ought to be kept there was a matter to look into, along with other things affecting the destiny of nations.

I could not stop to see Shanghai then, but did so later. If one looks deeply enough its excellences stand out. The private gardens, behind high walls, show its charm; acres covered with glorious plants, shrubs, and bushes; rows and groves of springtime trees radiant with blossoms; the parks and the verandas of clubs where people resort of late afternoons to take their tea; the glitter of Nanking Road at night, its surge of humanity, the swarming life on river and creeks. This is the real Shanghai, market and meeting place of the nations.

Nanking came next, visited the 4th of November. Forlorn and woeful the old capital lay in gray morning light as we entered. The semi-barbarous troops of Chang Hsun lined its streets. They had sacked the town, ostensibly suppressing the last vestiges of the "Revolution." General Chang Hsun, an old imperialist, still clinging to ancient customs, had espoused the cause of President Yuan. A rough soldier quite innocent of modernity, he had taken Nanking, not really for the republican government, but for immediate advantage to himself, and for his soldiers to loot and burn. There they stood, huge, black-uniformed, pig-tailed men, "guarding" the streets along which the native dwellers were slinking sullenly and in fear. Everywhere charred walls without roofs; the contents of houses broken and cast on the street; fragments of shrapnel in the walls—withal a depressing picture of misery.

Nanking, immense and primitive, had reverted partly to agriculture, and for miles the houses of farmers line extensive fields. Three Japanese men-of-war rode at anchor in mid-river; they had come to support the representations of the Japanese consul over an injury suffered by a Japanese barber during the disturbances. General Chang Hsun, forced to offer reparation, had among other things to call ceremoniously on the Japanese consul to express his formal regrets. This he did, saving his face by arranging to call on all the foreign consuls the same day.

Another bit of local colour: We were driven to the American consulate, modestly placed on the edge of the agricultural region of Nanking, with barns in the offing. The consul being absent on leave, the official in charge greeted us. His wife related that a few days before thirty of Chang's braves, armed to the teeth, had come to the house to see what they might carry off. In her husband's absence Mrs. Gilbert met them at the door and very quietly talked the matter over with them as to what unending bother it would occasion everybody, particularly General Chang, if his men should invade the American consulate, and how it would be far better to think it over while she prepared some tea for them.

The men, at first fierce and unrelenting, looked at one another puzzled, then found seats along the edge of the veranda. When the tea came in, their spokesman said they recognized that theirs had been a foolish enterprise. With expressions of civility and gratitude they consumed their tea and went away—which shows what one American woman can do in stilling the savage breast of a Chinese vandal by a quiet word of reason.

After the exhibition his men had made of themselves in Nanking, I had no wish to call on His Excellency Chang Hsun. We arranged to take the first train for Tientsin. Crossing the broad river by ferry, from its deck friends pointed out Tiger Head and other famous landscapes, the scenes of recent fighting and of clashes during the Revolution of 1911. In the sitting room of our special car on the Pukow railway, the little company comprised Dr. Stanley K. Hornbeck, who went on with me to Peking; Mr. Roy S. Anderson, an American uniquely informed about the Chinese, and a Chinese governmental representative who accompanied me. In a single afternoon Mr. Anderson gave me a complete view of the existing situation in Chinese politics, relating many personal incidents and characteristics.

In Chinese politics the personal element is supreme. The key to the ramifications of political influence lies in knowledge of persons; their past history, affiliations and interests, friendships, enmities, financial standing, their groupings and the interactions of the various groups. Intensely human, there is little of the abstract in Chinese social ethics. Their ideals of conduct are personal, while the remoter loyalties to principle or patriotic duty are not strongly expressed in action. In this immediate social cement is the strength by which Chinese society has been able to exist for ages.

The defect of this great quality is in the absence of any motive whereby men may be carried beyond their narrower interests in definitely conceived, broad public aims. When I came to China these older methods prevailed more than at present; hence Mr. Anderson's knowledge of the Chinese, wide as the nation and specific as to the qualities of all its important men, enabled me to approach Chinese affairs concretely, personally, and to lay aside for the time any general and preconceived notions. It enabled me to see, also, how matters of such vast consequence, as, for example, the Hwai River famines, had been neglected for the short-sighted individual concerns of Chinese politics.

That afternoon we passed through the Hwai River region. An apparently endless alluvial plain, it is inexhaustibly rich in depth and quality of soil—loess, which has been carried down from the mountains and deposited here for eons. Fitted by Nature to be one of the most fertile garden spots on earth, Nature herself has spoiled it. The rivers, swollen by torrential rains in the highlands, flood this great area periodically, destroying all crops; for many years only two harvests have been gathered out of a possible six, in some years there have been none at all.

Here the visitations of famine and plague are immemorial. The liberal and effective assistance which the American Red Cross gave during the last famine, in 1911, is gratefully remembered by the Chinese. Beholding this region, so richly provided and lacking only a moderate, systematic expenditure for engineering works to make it the source of assured livelihood for at least twenty millions more than its present population, I resolved that one of my first efforts would be to help reclaim the vast estate.

We arrived after dark in the province of Shantung—Shantung, which was destined to play so large a part in my official life in China! The crowds at stations were growing enormous, their greetings more vociferous. An old friend appeared, Tsai Chu-tung, emissary of the Provincial Governor and of the Commissioner of Foreign Affairs; he had been a student under me, and, for a time, my Chinese secretary. Past the stations with their military bands and metallic welcomes and deputations appearing with cards, at all hours of the night, we arrived at length at Tsinan, Shantung's capital. Here, in behalf of the Governor, the young Commissioner Tsai, together with an official deputation, formally greeted me; thence he accompanied me to Peking, affording me another chance to hear from a very keen and highly trained man an account of China's situation.

Reaching Tientsin that afternoon, we were met by representatives of the Civil Governor and by his band. There the American community, it seems, had been stirred prematurely by news of my coming, and had visited the station for two days in succession. The manager of the railway, a Britisher, had confused the Consul-General by his error in date of my arrival, starting too soon the entire machinery of reception, including a parade by the Fifteenth United States Infantry.

We had dinner that evening with Civil Governor Liu at his palace. Miles of driving in rain through dark, narrow streets, ending with a vision of huge walls and lantern-illuminated gates, found us in the inner courts, and, finally, in the main hall of the antique, many-coloured structure where the fat and friendly Governor received us. The heads of the various provincial departments attended, together with the President of the Assembly and the military aides. Young Mr. Li, the Governor's secretary and interpreter for the after-dinner speechmakers, performed the rare feat of rendering into either language an entire speech at a time—and the speeches were not short. My Chinese secretary commented on his brilliant translations, the perfect renderings of the English into Chinese, and I could myself admire his mastery of the English idiom. Such talent of translation is seldom displayed; the discourse of speakers is usually limited to brief paragraphs, continually checked by the renderings of the interpreters. Of course, this interrupts the flow of thought and contact with one's hearers. But the interpreter at this dinner even managed to translate jokes and witticisms without losing the point. A play on words is most difficult to carry into a foreign tongue, but the Chinese is so full of opportunities for puns that a nimble interpreter will always find a substitute. To the telling of a really funny situation the Chinese can be relied on to respond. Their humour is not unlike the American, which delights particularly in exposing undue pretensions. Interpreters, in translating speeches to the general public, have sometimes resorted to something of their own invention, in order to produce the expected laugh. When they despair of making the foreign joke hit the bull's-eye, they occasionally help things along by making personal remarks about the speaker, whose gratifications at the hilarity produced is usually unclouded by a knowledge of the method employed.

Our departure from Tientsin was signalized by an unusual mark of Chinese governmental courtesy. For the trip to Peking we found assigned the palace car of the former Empress Dowager, and I was told that it had not been used since her reign came to an end. Adapting a new invention to old custom, the car's interior had been arranged as a little palace chamber. The entrance doors were in a double set. Those in the centre were to be opened only when the sovereign entered or departed, the side doors being for ordinary use. Opposite the central doors at the end of the salon stood a little throne, high and wide, upholstered in Imperial yellow. The draperies and upholsteries of the car were all of that colour, and it made, in its way, quite a showing of splendour and departed greatness.

As one approaches the capital city, the beautiful mountain forms of the so-called Western Hills, which rise suddenly out of the plain about ten miles beyond Peking and attain an altitude of from six to seven thousand feet, present a striking contrast to the flat and far-stretching Chihli plain. The towers and city walls of Peking, an impressive and astounding apparition of strength and permanence, befit this scene. Solemn and mysterious, memorable for their size, extent, and general inevitableness of structure, they can be compared only with the Pyramids, or with great mountains fashioned by the hand of Nature herself. Looking down upon these plains, where so many races have met, fought, worked, lived, and died, where there is one of the chief meeting points of racial currents, these walls are in themselves the symbols of a memorable and long-sustained civilization.

As we approach more closely, the walls tower immediately above us as the train skirts them for several miles, crosses a number of busy roads leading to the southern gates of the city, and then suddenly slips through an opening in the walls to the inside. We first pass through the so-called Chinese city; this particular corner is no longer densely populated, but is now left to gardens, fields, and burial places with their monuments and pagodas. We only skirt the populous part of the Chinese city. Soon we are brought immediately under the lofty walls which separate the Chinese from the Manchu city, adjacent to it on the north, but separated from it by an enormous wall one hundred feet high, with a diameter of eighty feet. Where the two encircling walls meet, towering bastions soar upward, and above the roadways rise high gate-houses of many stories. The impassivity of these monumental structures contrasts sharply with the swarming human life that surges in the streets below.

From Mr. Willys R. Peck, Chinese Secretary of the Legation, who had met us at Tientsin and accompanied us to Peking, I learned more about the recent events in the capital and the fight which Yuan Shih-Kai was waging against the Parliament. At the station we were greeted by a large concourse of civilian and military officials, and Mr. E.T. Williams, Chargé d'Affaires since Mr. Calhoun's departure, acted as introducer. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sun Pao-chi, a tall, benevolent-looking man, wearing European dress and long chin whiskers, and speaking a little English with more French and German, offered his welcome and felicitations. Other high officials were there, many members of the American community, and several representatives of the parliament. It was a delight to see the fine-looking companies of American marines, who among all troops in Peking are noted for their well-groomed, smart, and soldierly appearance. Included for the official welcome was a company of stalwart Chinese infantry, and one of the Peking gendarmerie, which also is military in its organization. The several bands vied with each other in playing national airs and salutes, while thousands of spectators congregated.

The central Tartar city gate (the Chienmen), was still in its original form, and in passing through or under it one received an indelible impression of the stupendous majesty and dignity which characterize this unique capital. The curtain walls connecting the inner and outer gates have since been removed. We drove through a side gate in the curtain wall, finding ourselves in an impressive plaza overtowered by the two lofty and beautiful gate-houses. Two small picturesque antique temples flank the main entrance; one, dedicated to the God of War, was a favourite place with the Empress Dowager, who stopped her cortège there whenever she passed. From the flag-poles of these temples huge, brilliantly coloured banners floated in the air. Atop the wall from which the Chienmen Tower arises were American marines on guard and looking down upon us. These, then, were the men whose presence up there seemed to be interesting people so much.

From the main gateway one looks straight up the avenue which forms the central axis of Peking; it leads through many ornamental gates and between stately buildings to the central throne halls of the Imperial Palace. The city plan of Peking is a symmetrical one. This central axis, running due north and south, passes through a succession of important gateways, monuments, and seats of power. From it the city expands regularly east and west; on the south the Chinese city, the symmetry of its streets and alleyways more broken; and the Manchu city on the north, with broad avenues leading to the principal gates, while the large blocks between them are cut up more regularly by narrower streets and alleyways.

From the main south gate of the Chinese city the central line passes along the principal business street to the central south gate of the Tartar city—the imposing Chienmen—while eighty rods beyond this stands the first outer gate of the Imperial City. Thence the central line cuts the large square which lies immediately outside of the Forbidden City, forming the main approach to the Imperial City. The line then passes between pillars and huge stone lions through the Forbidden City's first gate, cutting its inner parade ground and inner gate, above which stands the throne from which the Emperor reviewed his troops. Through the central enclosures, with the throne rooms and coronation halls, three magnificent structures in succession, the line passes, at the point where the thrones stand, into the residential portion of the Forbidden City where the present Emperor lives, and strikes the summit of Coal Hill, the highest point in Peking. It bisects the temple where the dead bodies of Emperors reposed before burial, and proceeds from the rear of the Imperial City by its north gate through the ancient Bell Tower and Drum Tower. A more awe-inspiring and majestic approach to a seat of power is not to be seen in this world. We can well imagine, when tribute bearers came to Peking and passed along this highway beset with imposing structures and great monuments, that they were prepared to pay homage when finally in the presence of the being to whose might all this was but an introduction.

But we did not follow along this path of sovereign power. After passing through the Chienmen we turned directly to the right to enter the Legation Quarter and to reach the American Legation, which nestles immediately inside the Tartar wall in the shadow of the tall and imposing Chienmen Tower. It is the first of the great establishments along Legation Street, which is approached through a beautiful many-coloured pailu, or street arch.

No other American representative abroad has quite so easy a time upon arrival at his post. We were going to a home prepared for our reception, adequately furnished, and with a complete staff of servants and attendants who were ready to serve luncheon immediately, if required. In most cases, unfortunately, an American diplomatic representative will for weeks or months have no place to lay his head except in a hotel. Many American ministers and ambassadors have spent fully one half the time during their first year of office in making those necessary living arrangements which I found entirely complete at Peking. That is the crucial period, too, when their minds should be free for observing the situation in which they are to do their work. May the time soon come when the nation realizes more fully the need of dignified representation of its interests abroad.

The residence of the minister I found simple but handsome, in stately colonial renaissance style, its interior admirably combining the spaciousness needed for official entertaining with the repose of a real home. It is made of imported American materials, and a government architect was expressly sent to put up the legation buildings. He had been designing government structures in America, and the somewhat stereotyped chancery and houses of the secretaries were popularly called "the young post offices." But the minister's house, largely due to the efforts of Mr. Rockhill, who was minister at the time, is a masterpiece of appropriateness—all but the chimneys. It is related that the architect, being unfamiliar with the ways of Chinese labourers and frequently impatient with them, incurred their ill-will. When Mr. Rockhill first occupied the residence, it was found the chimneys would not draw; the disgruntled masons had quietly walled them up, in order that the architect might "lose face," and the chimney from the fireplace of the large dining room was so thoroughly blockaded that it remained permanently out of commission.

At a distance from the "compound," or enclosure, which surrounds the minister's residence, fronting on a central plaza, there is a veritable hamlet of additional houses occupied by secretaries, attachés, consular students, and the clerical staff. It is a picturesque Chinese village, with an antique temple and many separate houses, each with its garden enclosed within high walls—a rescued bit of ancient China in the midst of the European monotony of the Legation Quarter. It adjoins the Jade Canal, opposite the hotel called "Sleeping Cars" by some unimaginative director, but more fitly known as the Hotel of the Four Nations. At the Water Gate, where the Jade Canal passes under the Tartar wall, is the very point where the American marines first penetrated into the Tartar city in 1900.

The Chinese are remarkably free from self-consciousness, and therefore are good actors; as one sees the thousands passing back and forth on the streets, one feels that they, too, are all acting. Here are not the headlong rush and elbowing scramble of the crowded streets of a Western metropolis. All walk and ride with dignity, as if conscious of a certain importance, representing in themselves not the eager purpose presently to get to a certain place, but rather a leisurely flow of existence, carrying traditions and memories of centuries in which the present enterprise is but a minor incident. Foreign women have sometimes been terrified by these vast, surging crowds; but no matter how timid they be, a few rickshaw rides along the streets, a short observation of the manners of these people, will make the faintest hearted feel at home. Before long these Tartaric hordes cease to be terrifying, and even the feeling that they are ethnological specimens passes away; it is remarkable how soon one feels the humanity of it all among these multitudes that seem to engulf but that never press or crowd.

Looking down upon a Chinese street, with multitudes of walkers and runners passing back and forth, mingled among donkey carts, riders on horse- or donkey-back, mule litters, rickshaws, camel caravans, flocks of animals led to sale and slaughter, together with rapidly flying automobiles—all gives the impression of perfect control of motion and avoidance, of crowding and scuffling, and recalls the movements of practised dancers on a crowded ballroom floor. A view of the crowds which patiently wait at the great gateways for their turn to pass through affords a constant source of amusement and delight. The line slowly pushes through the gate like an endless string being threaded through a needle. If there is mishap or collision, though voices of protest may arise, they will never be those of the stoic, dignified persons sitting in the rickshaws; it is against etiquette for the passenger to excite himself about anything, and he leaves that to the rickshaw man. All humanity and animaldom live and work together in China, in almost undisturbed harmony and mutual understanding.

Only occasionally a hubbub of altercation rises to the skies. In these days the pigtails had only just been abolished. Under the old conditions, the technique of personal combat was for each party to grab the other by the cue and hold him there, while describing to him his true character. During the first years of the reform era one might still see men who were having a difference frantically grabbing at the back of each other's heads where there was, however, no longer anything to afford a secure hold.

A great part of Chinese life is public. It is on the streets with their innumerable restaurants; their wide-open bazaars of the trades; their ambulent letter-writers and story-tellers with the curious ones clustered about them; their itinerant markets; their gliding rickshaws; their haphazard little shops filled with a profusion of ageless, precious relics. There is the charm of all this and of the humanity there swarming, with its good-natured consideration for the other fellow, its constant movement, its excited chatter, its animation and its pensiveness, and its occasional moments of heated but bloodless combat.

[CHAPTER III]

OLD CONFUCIANISM IN THE NEW CHINA

"The whole Chinese people hold the doctrines of Confucius most sacred," declared President Yuan Shih-kai in his decree of November 26, 1913, which re-introduced much of the old state religion. He stopped a little short of giving Confucianism the character of an established religion, but ordered that the sacrificial rites and the biennial commemoration exercises be restored. "I am strongly convinced," he said, "of the importance of preserving the traditional beliefs of China." In this he was upheld by the Confucian Society at Peking, in the organization of which an American university graduate, Dr. Chen Huan-chang, was a leading spirit. Mr. Chen's doctoral dissertation had dealt with the economic principles of Confucius and his school; upon his return to China his aim had been to make Confucianism the state religion under the Republic.

The Christian missionaries were agitated. They felt it to be a step backward for the new republic to recognize any form of belief. Yuan, however, said: "It is rather the ethic and moral principles of Confucius, as a part of education, that the Government wishes to emphasize." As there is nothing mystical or theological about Confucianism, such a view is, indeed, quite tenable.

Yuan Shih-kai again declared toward the end of December: "I have decided to perform the worship of heaven on the day of the winter solstice."

This fell on the 23rd of December, and again excited discussion. "It means that Yuan is edging toward the assumption of the Imperial dignity," many said.

I had a talk about this matter with the Minister of the Interior, Mr. Chu Chi-chien, who was thoroughly informed concerning the details of Confucian worship and the worship of Heaven; he had, in fact, an inexhaustible fund of knowledge of Chinese traditions. Nevertheless, he was a man of action, planning cities, building roads, and developing industries. Comparatively young and entirely Chinese by education and character, he had supremely that knowledge of the personalities of Chinese politics which was necessary in his ministry. As a builder he became the Baron Haussmann of Peking, widening and paving the avenues, establishing parks, rearranging public places, in all of which he did marvels within his short term of two years. He established the National Museum of Peking, and converted a part of the Imperial City into a public park which has become a centre of civic life theretofore unknown in China. Mr. Chu's familiarity with religion, art, and architecture—he was a living encyclopædia of archæology and art—and his pleasure in reciting the history of some Chinese temple or palace did not free him from a modern temptation. He would try to import too many foreign elements in the improvements which he planned, so that foreign friends of Chinese art had to keep close to him to prevent the bringing in of incongruous Western forms which would have spoiled the marvellous harmony of this great city.

"It would be dangerous," Mr. Chu informed me, "for the republican government to neglect the worship of Heaven. The entire farm population observes the ceremonial relative to sowing, harvesting, and other rural occupations according to the old calendar. Should the worship of Heaven be omitted on the winter solstice day, now that the Government has become established; and should there follow a leanness or entire failure of crops, the Government would surely be held responsible by the farmers throughout the land."

"Of course," he added, smilingly, "the worship will not guarantee good crops, but at any rate it will relieve the Government of responsibility."

I could not but reflect that, even in our own democracy, administrations have been given credit and blame by reason of general prosperity or of the lack of it, and that good crops certainly do help the party in power.

"In the ritual, we shall introduce some changes appropriate to republicanism," Mr. Chu assured me. "I am myself designing a special ceremonial dress to be worn by those participating, and the music and liturgy will be somewhat changed." But it was difficult to see wherein consisted the specific republican bias of the changes. Yuan Shih-kai did proceed to the Temple of Heaven before daybreak on December 23rd; in the dark of the morning the President drove to that wonderfully dignified open-air sanctuary in its large sacred grove along the southern wall of the Chinese city. He drove surrounded by personal bodyguards over streets covered with yellow sand and lined three-fold with soldiers stationed there the evening before. With him were the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, the Master of Ceremonies, the Censor General, the Minister of War, and a staff of other high officials and generals. Arrived at the temple, he changed his uniform for the sacrificial robes and hat, and, after ablutions, proceeded together with all the other dignitaries to the great circular altar, which he ascended. He was there joined by the sacrificial meat-bearers, the silk and jade bearers, the cupbearers, and those who chanted invocations. In succession the different ceremonial offerings were brought forward and presented to Heaven with many series of bows. A prayer was then offered, as follows:

Heaven, Thou dost look down on us and givest us the nation. All-seeing and all-hearing, everywhere, yet how near and how close: We come before Thee on this winter solstice day when the air assumes a new life; in spirit devout, and with ceremony old, we offer to Thee jade, silk, and meat. May our prayer and offerings rise unto Thee together with sweet incense. We sanctify ourselves and pray that Thou accept our offerings.

The first Confucian ceremony, which the President attended in person at four o'clock in the morning, took place about two months later. A complete rehearsal of the ceremony, with all details, had been held on the preceding afternoon. Many foreigners were present. Passing from the entrance of the Temple, between rows of immemorial ilex trees, and through lofty porticoes, in one of which are preserved the famous stone drums which date from the time of the Sage, the visitors entered the innermost enclosure. It, too, is set with ancient trees, which, however, leave the central portion open. The musical instruments were placed on the platform in front of the main temple hall. Here the ceremony itself was enacted, while the surface of the court was filled with members of the Confucian Society, ranks of dignified long-gowned men, members of the best classes of Peking.

I was told that the music played on this occasion was a modification of the classic strains which had from time immemorial been heard here. Perfect knowledge of this music seems no longer to exist. The music accompanying the ceremony was nevertheless attractive, produced with jade plaques, flutes, long-stringed instruments resembling small harps, but with strings of more uniform length, drums, and cymbals. A dominant note was struck on one of the jade plaques, whereupon all the instruments fell in with a humming sound, held for fully a minute, which resembled the murmur of forest trees or the surging of waves. There was no melody; only a succession of dominants, with the accompaniment of this flow of sound surging up, then ebbing and receding. One of the instruments is most curious, in the shape of a leopard-like animal, in whose back there are closely set about twenty small boards. At certain stages of the music a stick is rapidly passed over these boards, giving a very peculiar punctuation to the strains that are being played.

The chief dignitaries officiating were Mr. Chu Chi-chien, the Minister of the Interior, and Mr. Sun Pao-chi, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, gorgeous in their newly devised ceremonial costumes. The splendid and dignified surroundings of the temple courts enhanced the ceremony, but it depended for its effect on the manner of chanting, the music, and the very dignified demeanour of all who participated. Quite apart from the question of the advisability of a state religion or the possible reactionary influences which such ceremonies might have, I could not but feel that the refusal to cast off entirely such traditions was inspired by sound instinct.

Moreover, this revival came during the adoption of new ways. Chinese ladies came out in general society for the first time on the night of the 5th of February, at the Foreign Office ball. Many representatives of the outlying dependencies of China were there in picturesque costumes, invariably exhibiting a natural self-confidence which made them seem entirely in place in these modern surroundings. The Foreign Office building, planned by an American architect, contains on the main floor an impressive suite of apartments so arranged as to give ample space for large entertainments, while it affords every opportunity for the more intimate gathering of smaller groups. Guests were promenading through the long rows of apartments from the ballroom, where the excellent Navy Band was playing for the dancers.

The Chinese women gave no hint of being unaccustomed to such general gatherings of society, but bore themselves with natural ease and dignity. Nor did they conceal their somewhat amused interest in the forms of the modern dance; for only a few of the younger Chinese ladies had at that time acquired this Western art. The number of votaries, however, increased rapidly during the next few years.

From among the Tartars of the outlying regions this occasion was graced by a Living Buddha from Mongolia, to whom the Chinese officials were most attentive. Surrounded by a large retinue, he overtopped them all, and his bodily girth seemed enormous. He found his way early in the evening to a room where refreshments were being offered, took possession of a table, and proceeded to divest himself of seven or eight layers of outer garments. Thus reduced, he became a man of more normal dimensions. Several of his servitors then went foraging among the various tables, bringing choice dishes to which the Living Buddha did all justice. Long after midnight reports still came to the ballroom: "The Living Buddha is still eating."

It seems remarkable that Chinese women should so readily adapt themselves to wholly new situations. They have shown themselves capable of leadership in social, political, and scientific matters; a great many develop wide intellectual interests and manifest keen mental powers. When I gave the Commencement address at the Women's Medical College of Peking, the 13th of February, I was curious to see what types of Chinese women would devote themselves to a medical education. In this field Dr. King Ya-mei and Dr. Mary Stone are the pioneers. With the advance of modern medicine in China many Chinese women have adopted the career of nurses and of physicians. On this occasion the women students of the middle school sang various selections, and I was impressed with the cello-like quality of their alto voices. As customary on such occasions my address was made through an interpreter. The delivery of these chopped-off paragraphs can scarcely be inspiring, yet Chinese audiences are so courteous and attentive that they never give the speaker any suggestion of impatience.

A luncheon at the Botanical Gardens was given the next day by the Minister of Agriculture, Mr. Chang Chien. This institution, to which a small and rather hungry-looking collection of animals is appended, occupies an extensive area outside of the northwest gate, and was formerly a park or pleasure garden of the Empress Dowager. A modern-style building, erected for her use and composed of large main apartments on each floor, with smaller side-chambers opening out from them, was used for our luncheon party. Its walls were still hung with pictures painted by the hand of the august lady, who loved to vary her busy life by painting flowers. The conversation here was mostly on Chinese art, there being among the guests an antiquarian expert, Chow, who exhibited some fine scrolls of paintings. I noted that the Chinese evinced the same interest in the writing appended to the paintings (colophon) as in the picture itself. They seemed to admire especially the ability, in some famous writers, of executing complicated strokes without hesitation and with perfect control. When we were looking at a page written by a famous Sung poet, Mr. Chow said: "He always finished a stroke lightly, like his poems, still leaving something unsaid."

Chinese handwriting has infinite power to express differences of character and cultivation. It is closely associated with personality. Some writing has the precision of a steel engraving; other examples, again, show the sweep and assurance of a brush wielded by a Franz Hals. It is the latter that the Chinese particularly admire; and even without any knowledge of Chinese script one cannot but be impressed with its artistic quality and its power to reveal personal characteristics. It is still the great ambition of educated Chinese to write well—that is, with force and individual expression. My host on this occasion was one of the most noted calligraphers in China. Many emulated him; among them a northern military governor who had risen from the ranks, but spent laborious hours every day decorating huge scrolls with a few characters he had learned, with which to gladden the hearts of his friends.

The new things cropping out in Chinese life had their detractors. Mr. and Mrs. Rockhill had come to Peking for a visit. Relieved of official duties through a change in the administration, it was quite natural that Mr. Rockhill should return where his principal intellectual interests lay. Throughout our first conversation at dinner Mrs. Rockhill affected a very reactionary view of things in China, praising the Empire and making fun of all attempts at modernization. One would have thought her not only a monarchist, but a believer in absolutism of the old Czarist type. A woman so clever can make any point of view seem reasonable. Mr. Rockhill did not express himself so strongly, but he was evidently also filled with regret for the old days in China which had passed. While we were together receiving guests at a dinner I was giving Mr. Rockhill, some of the young Foreign Office counsellors appeared in the distance, wearing conventional evening clothes. "How horrible," Mr. Rockhill murmured, quite distressed. Not perceiving anything unusual to which his expression of horror could refer, I asked, "What?" "They ought to wear their native costume," he answered; "European dress is intolerable on them, and it is so with all these attempted imitations."

The talk at another dinner, a small gathering including Mr. Rockhill, Doctor Goodnow, and Dr. Henry C. Adams, revolved around conditions in China and took a rather pessimistic tone. Doctor Adams had been elaborating a system of unified accounting for the railways. "At every turn," he said, "we seem to get into a blind alley leading up to a place where some spider of corruption sits, the whole tribe manipulated by a powerful head spider."

This inheritance of corruption from the easy-going past, when the larger portion of official incomes was made up of commissions and fees, was recognized to be a great evil by all the more enlightened Chinese officials. They attempted to combat it in behalf of efficient administration but they could not quite perform the heroic task of lifting the entire system bodily onto a new basis. Because the new methods would require greatly increased salaries, the ideal of strict accountability, honesty, and efficiency, could only be gradually approached. Doctor Goodnow for his part contributed to the conversation a sense of all the difficulties encountered by saying: "Here is a hitherto non-political society which had vegetated along through centuries held together by self-enforced social and moral bonds, without set tribunals or formal sanction. Now it suddenly determines to take over elections, legislatures, and other elements of our more abstract and artificial Western system. I incline to believe that it would be infinitely better if the institutional changes had been more gradual, if the system of representation had been based rather on existing social groupings and interests than on the abstract idea of universal suffrage. These political abstractions as yet mean nothing to the Chinese by way of actual experience."

He also did not approve of the persistent desire of the democratic party to establish something analogous to the English system of cabinet government. He felt that far more political experience was needed for working so delicate a system. "I am inclined to look to concentration of power and responsibility in the hands of the President for more satisfactory results," he said.

Mr. Rockhill's fundamental belief was that it would be far better for the world not to have meddled with China at all. "She should be allowed to continue under her social system," he urged, "a system which has stood the test of thousands of years; and to trust that the gradual influence of example would bring about necessary modifications." He had thorough confidence in the ability of Yuan Shih-kai, if allowed a free hand, to govern China in accordance with her traditional ideas but with a sufficient application of modern methods. He even considered the strict press censorship applied by Yuan Shih-kai's government as proper under the circumstances.

Throughout this conversation, which dwelt mostly on difficulties, shortcomings and corruption, there was, nevertheless, a notable undercurrent of confidence in the Chinese people. These experienced men whose work brought them into contact with specific evils, looked at the Chinese, not from the ordinary viewpoint so usual with foreigners who assume the utter hopelessness of the whole China business, but much as they would consider the shortcomings of their own nation, with an underlying faith in the inherent strength and virtue of the national character. The idea of China being bankrupt was laughed to scorn by Mr. Rockhill. "There are its vast natural and human resources," he exclaimed. "The human resources are not just a quantity of crude physical man power, but there is a very highly trained industrial capacity in the handicrafts." But it is exactly when we realize the stupendous possibilities of the country, her resources of material wealth, her man power, her industrial skill, and her actual capital that the difficulties which obstruct her development seem so deplorable.

Mr. Liang Chi-chao gave a dinner at about this time, at which Doctor Adams, Doctor Goodnow, President Judson of Chicago, and the ladies were present. Mr. Liang had a cook who was a master in his art, able to produce all that infinite variety of savory distinction with which meat, vegetables, and pastry can be prepared by the Chinese. One usually speaks of Chinese dinners as having from one hundred fifty to two hundred courses. It would be more accurate, however, to speak of so many dishes, as at all times there are a great many different dishes on the table from which the guests make selection. The profusion of food supplied at such a dinner is certainly astonishing. The guests will take a taste here and there; but the greater part of it is sent back to the household and retainers. It is a popular mistake to believe that Chinese food is composed of unusual dishes. There are indeed birdsnest soup, shark fins, and ducks' kidneys, but the real excellence of Chinese cooking lies in the ability to prepare one thing, such as chicken, or fish, in innumerable ways, with endless varieties of crispness, consistency, and flavour. It is notable to what extent meat predominates. Although there is always a variety of vegetables and of fruit, the amount of meat consumed by the Chinese is certainly astonishing to one who has classified them, as is usually done, as a vegetarian people.

The show of abundance at a Chinese banquet seems the fare of poverty compared with the cargoes of delicacies served at the Imperial table. It was a rule of the Imperial household that any dish which the Emperor had at any time called for, must be served him at the principal meal every day; as his reign lengthened the numbers of dishes at his table, naturally, constantly increased. It is related that the dinner of the Emperor Chen Lung required one hundred and twenty tables; and the Empress Dowager, at the time of her death, had worked up to about ninety-six tables. It is not to be wondered at that the Emperor's kitchen had an army of three hundred cooks! At one time when the Duke Tsai was discussing with me the financial situation of the Imperial family, he remarked, with a deep sigh: "The Emperor has had to reduce the number of his servants. For instance, at present he has only thirty cooks." Not knowing of the custom described above, I was inclined to consider that number quite adequate. I believe the little Emperor has at the time I write reached the quota of about fifteen tables.

At the hospitable board of Mr. Liang Chi-chao, while the dishes were served in Chinese style and the food eaten with chopsticks, some modifications of the usual dinner procedure had been made. The etiquette of a Chinese meal requires that when a new set of dishes with food has been placed in the centre of the table, the host, hostess, and other members of the family survey what is there and pick out the choicest morsels to lay on the plates of their guests. The guests then reciprocate the courtesy, and the interchange of favours continues throughout the dinner, giving the whole affair a most sociable aspect. At Mr. Liang Chi-chao's table these courtesies were observed, but there were special chopsticks provided for taking the food from the central dishes and transferring it to a neighbour's or to one's own.

The conversation after dinner wandered toward Chinese ethics. Mr. Liang Chi-chao is one of the most competent authorities on this subject and on its relations to Western thought and life. I ventured this opinion: "While the high respect in which the elders are held by the younger generation in China is a remarkably strong social cement, it is discouraging to progress in that it gives the younger and more active little chance to carry out their own ideas."

"But the system does not," Mr. Liang rejoined, "necessarily work to retard change; because it is, after all, society rather than individuals which controls. With all proper respect for elders, the younger element has ample opportunity to bring forward and carry out ideas of social change."

He regarded the principle of respect for elders and of ancestor worship of fundamental importance; in addition to its direct social effects, it gave to Chinese society all that the Western peoples derive 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 China political matters included commerce, finance, and industry. I did not, of course, intend that the Legation should enter into a scramble for concessions, but it was my purpose that it should maintain sympathetic contact with Americans active in the economic life of China, and should see to it that the desire of the Chinese to give them fair treatment should not be defeated from any other source.

When I thought of American enterprise in China I had less in mind the making of government contracts, than the gaining of the confidence of the Chinese people in the various provincial centres of enterprise by extensive business undertakings, resting on a sound and broad foundation. In China the people are vastly more important than the Government, so that it is necessary to make up one's mind from the start not to regard Peking as the end-all and be-all of one's activity, but to interest one's self deeply in what is going on in all of those important interior centres where the real power of government over the people is exercised, and where the active organizations of the people are located.

The universal knowledge that America has no political aims in China, of itself gives Americans the confidence of the Chinese and predisposes the latter to favour intimate coöperation. Our policy is known to be constructive and not to imply insidious dangers to their national life. It would be discouraging to the Chinese, should Americans fail to take a prominent part in the development of Chinese resources. To Americans the idea of securing preëminence or predominance is foreign, but from the very nature of their purely economic interest they have to resist any attempt on the part of others to get exclusive rights or a position of predominance, which could be utilized to restrict, or entirely to extinguish, American opportunities.

I was therefore resolved to give every legitimate encouragement to constructive enterprise, whether it were in education, finance, commerce, or industry.[1] Fully a year before going to China I had expressed my view of the nature of American policy there, saying that a united China, master of its own land, developing its resources, open to all nations of the world equally for commercial and industrial activity, should be the chief desideratum.

Among the specific American interests already existing in China, that of missionary and educational work had at this time to be given the first rank. There are two factors which have made it possible for this work to achieve a really notable influence. The one is that it is plainly the result of individual impulse on the part of a great many people animated by friendly motives, and not the result of a concerted plan of propaganda. The second factor is the spirit of helpfulness and coöperation which permeates this work. There is no trace of a desire to establish a permanent tutelage. An institution like the Y.M.C.A. acts with the sole thought of helping the Chinese to a better organization of their own social and educational life. The sooner they are able to manage for themselves, the better it seems to please the American teachers, who may remain for a while as friendly counsellors, but who make no effort to set up a permanent hierarchy of supervision. The Chinese have an intense respect for their educators, and it has been the good fortune of many Americans—men like Dr. W.A.P. Martin and Dr. Chas. D. Tenney—to win the devoted loyalty of innumerable Chinese through their activity as teachers.

Among commercial enterprises the Standard Oil Company was carrying petroleum to all parts of China. It had introduced the use of the petroleum lamp, had extended the length of the day to the hundreds of millions of Chinese, and even its emptied tin cans had become ubiquitous in town and country, because of the manifold uses to which these receptacles could be put. For efficiency and close contact with the people, the Chinese organization of this great company was indeed admirable.

A similar result had been obtained by the British-American Tobacco Company, which, although organized in England under British law, is American by majority ownership, business methods, and personnel. The cigarette had been made of universal use, and had been adapted to the taste and purchasing ability of the masses. Though there were several American commission firms of good standing, none had the extensive trade and financial importance of the great British houses. Several American firm names established in China early in the nineteenth century, like that of Frazar & Company, had become British in ownership. The only American bank was the International Banking Corporation, which at this time confined itself to exchange business and did not differ in its policy or operations from the common run of treaty port banks.

If national standing in China were to be determined by the holding of government concessions, America was at this time, indeed, poorly equipped. The Bethlehem Steel Corporation had in 1910 concluded a contract with the Imperial Government for the construction of vessels to the value of $20,000,000. When I came to China, a vice-president of the corporation, Mr. Archibald Johnston, was in Peking, ready to arrange with the republican government for a continuance of the contract. The American banking group was a partner in the Hukuang Railways, in which it shared with the British, French, and German groups. An American engineer was employed at the time in making a survey of a portion of the proposed line along the Yangtse River. The American group also held the concession for the Chinchow-Aigun Railway in Manchuria, the execution of which had been blocked by Russia and Japan. The group further participated with the three other groups above mentioned in the option for a currency loan. The only activity going on at this time in connection with these various contracts, on the part of America, was the survey of the Hukuang railway line west of Ichang.

For some time the practice had grown up, on the part of European powers, to urge the Chinese to employ, as advisers, men reputed to have expert knowledge in certain fields. The most noted adviser at this time was Dr. George Morrison, who had gained a reputation in interpreting Far Eastern affairs as Peking correspondent for the London Times during and after the critical period of 1900. A fresh group of advisers had just been added under the terms of the Reorganization Loan. Each power therein represented had insisted that the Chinese appoint at least one of its nationals as an adviser. The American Government had never urged China to make such an appointment. But when President Eliot visited China in 1913, Chinese officials expressed to him the wish that a prominent American should be retained as adviser to the Chinese Government. President Eliot suggested that the Carnegie Endowment might propose certain experts from whom the Chinese Government could then make a selection. This method was actually followed, and as a result Prof. F.J. Goodnow of Columbia University, a recognized authority on constitutional law, had been retained by the Chinese Government and was at this time already in residence at Peking. The Ministry of Communications on its part had sought a man familiar with railway accounting, and had called upon the late Prof. Henry C. Adams, the noted economist and railway expert of Michigan University.

The important administrative positions of Inspector General of Customs and of Foreign Inspector of the Salt Revenue were held by two British officials. The salt administration had come within the purview of international supervision through the Reorganization Loan agreement; and, as America was not a party to that loan, the appointment of Americans to any positions in this service was frowned upon by several of the partners. The Inspector, Sir Richard Dane, an official of long experience in India, however, adopted the policy of not confining the appointments to subjects of the Consortium Powers. He had retained several Americans, in whom he seemed to place great confidence. In the Customs Service, Americans did not hold the number of positions to which they were relatively entitled. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that very few people in the United States knew that such positions in China are open to Americans; moreover, many of those Americans who were actually appointed had become impatient with the relatively slow advancement in this service and had been attracted by other opportunities. There were, however, a number of highly reputed and efficient American officials in the Customs Service.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The leading British paper of China had this to say concerning the modern functions of diplomacy: "It is characteristic of Doctor Reinsch and his outlook upon China that he should mark a point of progress in the fact that the legations are ceasing to be merely political centres, and that, instead of politics being the one and only object of their existence, they are now establishing relations of all kinds of mutual helpfulness in vital phases of national reorganization. In this connection, we may see an increase in the number of experts who will come, unofficially for the most part, to study conditions and gather data which may be available as a sure foundation for progress." I may say in passing that the British papers in China, throughout the period of my work there, were almost uniformly fair and friendly, and gave credit for honest efforts to improve conditions.

[CHAPTER VII]

PROMPT PROPOSALS FOR AMERICAN ACTION

The Chinese were not slow in showing what conclusions they deduced from the withdrawal of the American Government from the Six-Power Consortium. On November 27th, two cabinet ministers called on me for a private conversation. Following this interview Mr. Chang Chien, recognized master of antique Chinese learning, but also Minister of Industries and Commerce, came to me. I will relate the substance of what passed on these two occasions, beginning with Mr. Chang.

Chang Chien carried off first honours in the great metropolitan examinations of Peking under the old régime in 1899. He is a scholar par excellence of the Chinese classics, and his chirography is so famous that he has been able to support a college out of the proceeds of a sale of examples of his writing. But he has not rested satisfied with the ancient learning. In the region of his home, Nan Tung-chow, on the banks of the Yangtse, he has established schools, factories, and experiment stations for the improvement of agriculture and industry. He had financial reverses. People at this time still doubted whether he would be permanently successful, although they admitted that he had given impetus to many improvements. Since then his enterprises have flourished and multiplied. He has become a great national figure, whose words, spoken from an honest desire for right public action, have decisive weight with the nation. While he still represents the old belief that the superior man of perfect literary training should be able successfully to undertake any enterprise and to solve any practical difficulty—which belief is contrary to the demands of our complex modern life for specialization—yet he has succeeded in bending his intelligence to thoroughly modern tasks.

As would be expected from his high culture as a Chinese scholar, Mr. Chang Chien is a man of refinement and distinction of manners, than which nothing could be more considerate and more dignified. The Chinese are exceedingly sensitive to the thought and feeling of any one in whose company they happen to be; if their host is busy or preoccupied, no matter how politely he may receive them, they will nevertheless sense his difficulty and will cut their visit short. They also have great tact in turning a conversation or avoiding discussions they are not ready for, and they can do this in a manner which makes it impossible to force a discussion without impolite insistence. The smoothness and velvetiness of Chinese manners, together with the absence of all servile assent and the maintenance of complete independence of discussion, are marvellous and bear evidence to thousands of years of social training.

Mr. Chang Chien was particularly interested in river and harbour development, and in plans for the drainage of those regions of China which are subject to periodical floods. It was contemplated to establish a special conservancy bureau under whose care surveys for important projects were to be undertaken. I questioned Mr. Chang concerning the status of the Hwai River conservancy scheme for the prevention of floods in the northern portion of the provinces of Kiangsu and Anhui, the region from which he came.

"I have already established a special engineering school," he replied, "in order to train men for this work. A large part of the survey has been made, and it can be entirely completed by a further expenditure of 35,000 taels.

"Besides the enormous benefit of such a work to all the adjoining agricultural lands," he continued, "there would be reclaimed nearly 3,000,000 acres which could now not be used at all, although their soil is inexhaustibly fertile. The land thus reclaimed would be salable immediately for at least $40 an acre. Would not this alone be ample security for a large conservancy loan? $25,000,000 would do the work."

Mr. Chang was also interested in the establishment of a commercial and industrial bank, in copartnership with American capitalists. "Such a bank," he said, "would assist in furnishing the capital for the works of internal improvement."

It was quite plain that Mr. Chang looked upon a bank as an institution which would invest its capital in such enterprises—a conception which was then quite current among the Chinese. They had not yet fully realized that in the modern organization of credit a bank may act as a depository and may make temporary loans, but more permanent investments must ultimately be placed with individual capitalists, with banks acting only as underwriting and selling agencies.

As we talked about the execution of these large and useful projects, Mr. Chang repeatedly made expressions such as this: "I prefer American coöperation. I am ready to employ American experts to work out the plans and to act as supervisors. But please to bear in mind, these works may not be undertaken without raising a large part of the needed funds in the United States or in other countries."

When the two cabinet ministers called they brought no interpreter. "The matters about which we wish to talk," they said, "are so important that we wish to keep the discussion confined to as few persons as possible. We bring the ideas of President Yuan Shih-kai and his government with respect to what Americans might do in China."

They first gave me a review of the recent development of the Russo-Japanese entente with respect to Manchuria and Mongolia. They expressed their belief that an understanding existed between these powers to treat outer Mongolia as a region within which Russian control should not be obstructed, and, vice versa, to allow a free hand to Japan, not only in southern Manchuria, but also in eastern Mongolia. Continuous activity of the Japanese in south China, in stirring up opposition to the Central Government, indicated a desire to weaken China, and, if possible, to divide it against itself. The extraordinary efforts made by Japan to increase her naval establishment were also particularly mentioned. The impression their discourse conveyed was that Japan was engaged in a strong forward policy in China, and that in this she had the countenance and support of Russia.

My visitors then passed on to the reasons why the Chinese entertained the hope that America would give them its moral support to the extent of opposing the inroads made by Japan and Russia, and of coöperating with Great Britain and other powers favourable to the Open Door policy in preventing attempts to break up the Chinese Republic. They fully realized the improbability of an alliance between China and the United States, but laid stress on the parallel interests of the two countries, and particularly on the sympathy engendered through following the principles of democratic government. Having become a republic, the Chinese Government is brought into peculiarly close relationship to the United States; it sees in the United States its most sincere and unselfish friend, and realizes the importance of American moral support.

Descending to particulars, the ministers pointed out that while China appreciated and valued the friendly interest and counsel of the United States, it was disappointing that so very little had been done by America, while the European Powers and Japan should have taken such a very important part in the development of the resources of China. They said that the Chinese Government and people were desirous of affording the Americans unusual opportunities, should they be ready to coöperate.

Taking up specific enterprises, they stated that the Government was quite willing to ratify and carry out the contract made in 1910 by the Imperial Government with the Bethlehem Steel Corporation. Under this contract they intended to build vessels adapted for commercial purposes, but convertible into warships somewhat like the vessels of the Russian Volunteer Fleet. The establishment of a steamship line to the United States, directly or by way of the Panama Canal, was greatly desired by the Government.

It was recalled that at the time the naval mission of Prince Tsao visited the United States, the matter of lending American experts as instructors for the Chinese navy came up for discussion, and such assistance was promised by the American Administration under President Taft. The assistance contemplated was to be instructional and technical, not involving matters of policy or suggesting a political alliance, and of a nature such as had been in the past given by other nations, particularly Great Britain. The ministers stated that the Chinese Government still intended to avail itself of this assistance should the need for it arise, and that American coöperation in a matter like this was preferred because of the political disinterestedness of the American Government.

The ministers then took up more purely industrial enterprises, and dwelt particularly on plans for river and harbour improvement, mentioning the Hwai River region and other districts where agricultural pursuits are interrupted by destructive floods. As the Central Government contemplated the establishment of a national bureau to provide for these matters, the ministers suggested that the American Government would be invited to give its assistance by lending experts to plan and conduct the proposed works. They expressed their belief that the experience of Americans in such enterprises had qualified them above any other nation for coping with these problems of China.

Other matters were taken up, such as the possible creation of a tobacco monopoly, from which the ministers expected both increased revenue and a more effective organization of tobacco production throughout China. It was not their desire to oust the British-American Tobacco Company, but they suggested that an arrangement would be made whereby this company might act as the selling agent of the Chinese Government.

Another subject was the exploration of China for petroleum. They stated that the Government wished that the development of oil fields should be undertaken. On account of the manner in which some other nations were wont to extend the scope of any concessions of this kind so as to establish general claims of preference, particularly as to railway rights, the Government much preferred to take up this matter with Americans.

It was apparent that these men entertained high hopes of American activity in China, and that they were ready to do their part in making the conditions favourable. Their minds were alive with plans of development. Both because of American experience with similar problems and of the American spirit of fairness, they believed that great benefit would result if Americans were to become prominently active in the vast industrial transformation which they anticipated in the immediate future.

As this conversation passed from topic to topic, touching on proposals of moment, I could not but feel that a new spirit had surely arisen in China. It would have been inconceivable under the old régime for high officials, trained in the traditional formalism and reticent with inherited distrust of the foreigner, to approach a foreign representative thus frankly, laying before him concrete proposals for joint action. In the past, as we know, it was the foreigners who had desired changes and new enterprises and who had in and out of season pressed them upon the reluctant and inert Chinese officials. But here were men who realized that it is the function of the Government to plan and to initiate; and they were ready to go to any length in making advances to a country in whose motives they had full confidence.

It was impossible not to be fascinated by the prospects that were here unfolded. A country of vast resources in natural wealth, labour, power, and even in capital, was turning toward a new form of organization in which all these forces were to be made to work in larger units, over greater areas and with more intensive methods than ever before. The merely local point of view was giving way to the national outlook. National resources and industries were looked at not from the point of view alone of any local group interested but of the unity of national life and effort. To know that in this great task of reorganization, Americans would be most welcome as associates and directors; that they were spontaneously and sincerely desired in order that all these materials and resources might the more readily be built into a great and effective unity of national life—that, indeed, could not fail to be a cause for pride and gratification to an American. The only disturbing thought was the question whether Americans were ready to appreciate the importance of the opportunity here offered. Yet there could be no doubt that every energy must be applied in order to make them realize the unprecedented nature of the opportunities and the importance to America herself of the manner in which these materials were to be organized so as to promote general human welfare rather than selfish exploitation and political ambition.

The Russian efforts to strengthen their position in Mongolia, to which these two visitors had alluded, had at this time brought fruit in the form of an agreement with China to have the "autonomy" of Mongolia recognized. A result and byplay of these negotiations came to the notice of the foreign representatives in Peking at a meeting of the diplomatic corps on December 11th. The meeting was at the British Legation, to which Sir John Jordan had by this time returned.

The head of the large establishment of the Russian Legation was a young man, Mr. Krupenski. Trained under some of the ablest diplomats of Russia and having spent many years in Peking as secretary, he had manifestly not been selected by chance. With his English secretary he occupied his vast house alone, being unmarried. He entertained brilliantly, ably seconded therein by the Russo-Asiatic Bank across the way. Besides his thorough understanding of the Chinese, Mr. Krupenski had a valuable quality in his ability to shed all the odium that might attach to the policy of his government, as a duck sheds water. He appeared at times greatly to enjoy mystifying his colleagues, to judge by his amused and unconcerned expression when he knew they were guessing as to what his last move might mean. Mr. Krupenski is tall, florid, unmistakably Russian. During my first visit with him he plunged in medias res concerning China. Though he probably wondered what move I might contemplate after the Manchurian proposals of Mr. Knox and America's withdrawal from the Six-Power Group, he gave no hint of his feelings, which undoubtedly did not contemplate me as likely to become an intimate associate in policies. When I left him I knew that here was a man, surrounded by competent experts in finance, language, and law, who could play with the intricacies of Chinese affairs and take advantage of opportunities and situations of which others would not even have an inkling.

At the meeting of December 11th the Russian minister stated that he desired to make an announcement, and proceeded to tell his colleagues quite blandly that his government had decided to withdraw the legation guards and other Russian troops from north China, and that they suggested to the other governments to take similar action.

This announcement caused surprise all around the table. Questions came from all directions: "Is this action to be immediate?" "What is the purpose of your government?" "What substitute for this protection do you suggest?" These and many more. The Russian minister seemed amused by the excitement he had caused. He allowed none of the questioners to worry him in the least, or to draw him out. With a quizzical and non-committal smile he let the anxious surmises of his colleagues run off his back. He shrugged his shoulders and said: "These are the instructions of my government. Their purpose—I do not know." When the meeting adjourned, small groups walked off in different directions, all still intently discussing the meaning of this move. So, the legation guards were really very important! The first question put to me in Shanghai had related to them, and here I found the diplomatic corps thrown into excitement by the announcement that Russia was withdrawing her guard.

When I arrived at the Legation, where Mrs. Reinsch was receiving and where visitors in large numbers were taking tea and dancing to the music of the marine band, the news had evidently already preceded me, for several people asked me what had happened; and Putnam Weale and W.C. Donald, the British press representatives, were full of surmises. The interpretation generally accepted was that the Russians, and possibly the Japanese, were trying to put the other powers in a hole; if they did not withdraw their legation guards they might displease the Chinese Government, after what Russia had done; if they did withdraw them, they would give an advantage to Russia and Japan, powers who, on account of their proximity to China, could send large bodies of troops upon short notice.

From the attitude of the diplomats it had been apparent that the proposal of the Russians would not prove acceptable. For weeks the press was filled with attempts to gauge the true bearing of the Russian proposal. Looked at from this distance after the Great War, it is hard to imagine how so relatively unimportant a matter could cause excitement. Of course, the removal of the legation guard was not considered so important in itself, but it was of moment as an indication of what Russia might plan with respect to the further advance of her influence in China.

Probably Russia's action did not really contemplate any far-reaching consequences. The Russians were urging the Chinese Government to make an arrangement for Mongolian "autonomy," which could not but be intensely distasteful to the Chinese. The Russians had to offer something in return; with thorough knowledge of the old type of the Chinese official mind, they selected something which would not cost them anything, but which would be most gratifying to the Chinese Government. The Government looked upon the presence of foreign troops in Peking and in Chihli Province as incompatible with its dignity. Therefore, the Russian Government knew that through withdrawing its troops and calling upon the other governments to do likewise, an opportunity would be given the Chinese Government to claim an important victory, and the bitterness of renunciation with respect to Mongolia would thus be somewhat tempered. Yuan Shih-kai and the Government as such would probably take that view; but the Chinese as individuals were not likely thus to consider the presence of foreign troops an unmixed evil. These guards tended to stabilize the situation, also to prevent unconscionable acts or high-handed inroads by any individual powers. So far as the people of China were concerned, Russia might not gather much credit through this move.

[CHAPTER VIII]

A LITTLE VISION FOR CHINA

I have said that a little vision and the application of American scientific methods would transform China. Chang Chien had instanced the Hwai River valley, and the ease with which it might be made to bloom as the most fertile tract on the globe. China boasts the most skilled horticulturists and truck-farmers of any nation, and they breed its thousands of species of vegetables and flowering plants and shrubs. It is said of the Chinese gardener, that if there is a sick or weakened plant, he "listens and hears its cry," and nurses it into health like a mother. But now the multitudes in the flood-ridden districts must periodically expect the scarification of their gorgeous acres, the bearing away of their dwellings and loved ones on the remorseless floods.

Americans had for some time been aware of the possibilities of delivering from their curse these garden spots of earth. The American Red Cross, after giving $400,000 for relief of the severe famine in 1911, was advised by its representatives how such calamities might be prevented, and it set an American engineer at making surveys in the Hwai regions and suggesting suitable engineering works. Chang Chien, with his native school of engineers, was also investigating the flood conditions, just about the time the American group of financiers left the Six-Power Consortium. It might be expected that this American group would be reluctant immediately to start further enterprises in China; indeed, that it might even discourage others from starting. Hence I thought it essential to propose only such undertakings as would come naturally from past relationships or would help develop some American interest already established in China. I was attracted by this plan, sound, useful, and meritorious, to redeem the Hwai River region.

I found that the Chinese did not wish to take up this matter with any other nation than the United States, for they feared the territorial ambitions of the other powers and their desire to establish "spheres of influence" in China. To send in engineers, to drain and irrigate, meant close contacts; it might mean control over internal resources within the regions affected, for by way of security the foreign creditor would demand a mortgage upon the lands to be improved. Then there was the Grand Canal, a navigable watercourse, which would come within the scope of such works, and would give the foreign engineers and capitalists a direct means of penetrating the interior. Jealous of foreign political control in their domestic affairs, the Chinese were guarding their rights. But the American policy was traditionally non-aggressive, and I found that to fair-minded Americans the Chinese would grant concessions which no other nation might hope to secure.

I therefore asked through the Department of State what the American Red Cross might continue to do. Would it take steps toward the choosing of a reputable and efficient American engineering firm and have this firm supported by American capitalists, who might lend the Chinese Government the funds needed to reclaim the rich Hwai River region? The Red Cross responded favourably. I thereupon sought out Mr. Chang Chien, the scholar and minister, and got from him a definite agreement to entrust to the American Red Cross the selection of engineers and capitalists to carry out this great reform upon conditions laid down.

The minister and I had frequent conferences. We discussed carefully the engineering contracts, the conditions of the loan, the security. Every sentence in the proposed agreement had been weighed, every word carefully chosen; finally, on January 27, 1914, it was signed by Chang Chien as minister, and by myself in behalf of the American Red Cross. The J.G. White Corporation was chosen to finance the preliminary survey. Thus there were sent to China during the next summer three experts: Colonel (later Major General) Sibert, of the Panama Canal Commission; Mr. Arthur P. Davis, director of the United States Reclamation Service; and Prof. D.W. Mead, of the University of Wisconsin, an expert in hydraulic engineering.

Here was a beginning of great promise, and in a new direction.

But American enterprise had already affected the daily life of the Chinese in the field opened up by the Standard Oil Company. In fact, the lamp of Standard Oil had lighted China.

Now enter Mr. Yamaza, the Japanese minister. Japan, who had no oil in her lamp, wished to explore for it in China; so did other nations. But the American oil company, in a way which I shall detail, had gotten the concession. Moreover, the Bethlehem Steel Corporation had agreed for $20,000,000 to build a merchant fleet for China, convertible into cruisers—this to take the place of an old imperial contract for warships. At China's express request, and not at all because they were in that business, the Bethlehem people also consented to apply three millions of the whole sum to improve a Chinese port. Together with the Hwai River enterprise these American activities had put Japan on the alert. The Japanese press had distorted their significance, and now in the small Bethlehem contract Mr. Yamaza began to see things—a future Chinese mistress of the Asian seas, perhaps, and the Chinese littoral all besprinkled with naval ports. One evening Mr. Yamaza spoke to me about it, and at length; it was plain that his government meant some move.

Now Mr. Yamaza and his first secretary, Mr. Midzuno, were both unusually clever men. They drank a great deal. The minister explained that he did this for reasons of health, because, unless there were something he could give up if he should be taken sick, it might be very bad for him. I recall how Mr. Midzuno entertained a party at dinner by detailing his notable collection of expressions in various languages, of equivalents to the German term "Katzenjammer." Both of these men had previous Chinese experience and were intimately familiar with Chinese affairs. Yamaza was a man of great shrewdness; being under the influence of liquor seemed rather to sharpen his understanding. Taciturn and speaking in hesitating sentences, he would never commit himself to anything, but would deploy the conversation with great skill, in order to give his interlocutor every chance to do that very thing.

On the evening of this conversation we were guests of the manager of the Russo-Asiatic Bank. An amateur theatrical performance was in progress—three French "one-acters," the chief being "The Man Who Married a Dumb Wife," by Anatole France. Peking foreign society was there in force; the majority were gathered in the large salon where the stage was set, others promenading or conversing in small groups. In the intermission between two plays I encountered the Japanese minister, and, finding that he desired to talk, wandered with him to the smoking room, where we pre-empted a corner, whence during a long conversation we would catch now and then the echoes from the salon as the action on the stage rose to a more excited pitch.

Mr. Yamaza was more talkative than I had ever seen him. As was his custom, he had consumed ardent waters quite freely, but, as always, his mind was clear and alert. "In Shensi and Chihli provinces," he opened up, "the exertions of Japanese nationals in the matter of the concession to the Standard Oil Company have given them a right to be considered. I have been contending to the Chinese that Japan has a prior interest in the oil field of Shensi Province. Do you not know that Japanese engineers were formerly employed there?"

On my part, I expressed surprise that the Japanese papers should make so much noise about the American oil concession, whereas it was quite natural that Americans, who had done business in China for over a century, should occasionally go into new lines of enterprise.

But it soon became manifest that Mr. Yamaza was thinking of the Bethlehem Steel contract. "I must tell you," he said, "of the strategical importance of Fukien Province to my country." Then followed a long exposition. "China," he concluded, "has promised not to alienate this province to any other power, and Japan has repeatedly asserted an interest in that region."

He then repeated various surmises and reports concerning the nature of the Bethlehem contract. I told him quite specifically the nature of the agreement and about its long previous existence. Mr. Johnston, vice-president of the Bethlehem company, at the request of the Chinese Government had viewed various naval ports with the purpose of making an estimate of improvements which were most needed. I could not admit any sinister significance in this visit nor concede that Americans were not free to engage in port construction in any part of China.

While I had not been unguarded in my statements, I had assuredly not looked upon a conversation in such circumstances as a formal one. Yet I soon found out that a memorandum upon it was presented to the Department of State by the Japanese Ambassador in Washington, during an interview with Secretary Bryan on the question of harbour works in Fukien. I shall revert to this matter later.

A peculiarity of Chinese psychology was evinced after the Standard Oil contract had been signed. One year was given to select specific areas within which oil production was to be carried on as a joint enterprise of the Chinese Government and the American company, the ratio of property interest of the two partners being 45 to 55. The contract undoubtedly offered an opportunity for securing the major share in the development of any petroleum resources which might be discovered in China; for, once such a partnership has been established and the work under it carried out in an acceptable manner, an extension of the privileges obtained may confidently be looked for. But in itself the contract signed in February, 1914, was only a beginning. It denoted the securing of a bare legal right; and in China a government decree or concession is not in itself all-powerful. If its motives are suspected, if it has been obtained by pressure or in secrecy, if its terms are not understood or are believed to imply unjust burdens to certain provinces or to the people at large, then popular opposition will arise. This may not affect the legal character of the grant or the responsibility of the Government, but it will seriously obstruct the ready and profitable carrying out of the business. The obverse of this situation—the getting of a contract "on the square" and the demonstration that it is fair and just—finds every influence willing to coöperate.